
Book 



I -U. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



SPE]^SER'S POEM, 



ENTITLED 



COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE, 

EXPLAINED: 



WITH REMARKS UPON 



THE AMORETTI SONN^ETS, 



AND ALSO UPON 



A FEW OF THE MINOR POEMS OF OTHER EARLY 
ENGLISH POETS. /C>-^' 



BY THE AUTHOR OF 
"eemaeks on the sonnets of shakespeaee," to which 

THIS volume is designed AS A COMPANION. 



NEW YORK: 
PUBLISHED BY JAMES MILLER, 

(successor to C. S. FRANCIS & CO.) 

522 BROADWAY. 

MDCCCLXV. 



.X 









Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by 

JAMES MILLER, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
Southern District of New York. 



2 q (tD 



1 




JOHN P. TKOW& CO., 
TERs; iSTEREOTYPEBS, AND ElECTROTYPERS, 

50 Greene Street, New York. 



i 

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ADVERTISEMENT. 

Remarks upon tlie Amoretti (or Sonnets) of Spenser will be found in the 
2d and 3d chapters of this volume ; and the Sonnets themselves, for the con- 
venience of the student, have been added to the volume. 

The reader of the author's Remarks on the Shakespeare Sonnets, will find 
here some striking confirmations of the views there presented ; but may dis- 
cover many more by studying the early English poets in view of several 
pregnant hints in the Notes of Robert Bell, in his valuable edition of Chau- 
cer's poetical works (London, 1862), particularly the note, vol. 4, page 201 
on the following lines in the poem entitled the Assembly of Eoules [or Birds] 
—where the curious reader may see the very Queen, the mystical Lady of so 
many poets. 

"When I was comen ayen [again] into the place [?] 

That I of spake, that was so soote [sweet] and greene, 

Forth walked I tho [then] my selven to solace : 

Tho [then] was I ware [aware], where there sate a Queene, [N. B.] 

That, as of light the sommer Sunne shene 

Passeth the sterre, [stars], right so over mesure, [or, beyond measuxe,] 

She fairer was than any creature. 

And in a launde, [lawn], upon a hill of flowers, 
"Was sette this noble goddesse Nature. 

NOTE, BY iMR. BELL. 

The reader will remark the close resemblance between the structure of 
this poem [the Assembly of Foules — or Birds — ] and that of the Court of Love, 
already pointed out in the introduction to the latter poem. In these and in 
many detached passages of Chaucer's other poems, may be detected a ten- 
dency TO Pantheism, or the worshipping a principle supposed to pervade the 
Universe, rather than a personal Deity. 

Some of the poets see this principle as Lady Natiu'C, their mistress. 



CHAPTER I. 

Hume tells us, in the brief critical notices of lite- 
rary works at successive periods embraced in his 
history, that Spenser's Faerie Queene was a work 
which every scholar, or man of pretension to literary 
taste, felt bound to have upon his table ; but he 
adds, that no one felt bound to read it. Whether 
this criticism, or what, has worked the change we 
cannot say, but it is quite certain that the once fam- 
ous allegory of Una and the Lamb is no longer, or 
but rarely, seen upon the scholar's desk, and is only 
seen upon the parlor centre-table when richly bound 
in gilt and illustrated with pictures for the eye, while 
the book itself is as little read now as it was in the 
days of David Hume. 

That the cold and self-complacent philosophical 
historian should care but little about the " idle 
fancies," as he no doubt reputed them, of such a 
man as Spenser, may not be surprising to those of 



6 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. i. 

his own temper ; but there are others who will be apt 
to say, after all, that his criticism may be considered 
as indicating only his own taste, or the want of it, 
and that of what may be called the visible public of 
his day ; while we may be sure there must have 
been then, as there are now, a few to delight in fol- 
lowing the spirit of the poet, and with more or less 
fidelity seek to discover something in nature of an 
invisible character " correspondent " to it ; the search 
for which will continue to task and to reward the 
student in all ages ; for, without adopting the theories 
or expositions of Swedenborg, it can hardly be denied, 
except by the most downright fatalist, that there is 
what may be properly called a spiritual world, where 
the genuine poet will be found at home in his own Ar- 
cadia. Philosophy is not without a clue to the true 
ground of the poet's dreams and visions ; and it lies 
chiefly in the dogma, that there can be no modal 
manifestation in nature, which is not based upon the 
substantial — without, or out of which, there is nothing 
at all : in which istothing, we will add, a certain 
class of. seekers tell us they find all things. 

But we do not propose to discuss -these matters, 
and will enter without farther preface upon the pur- 
pose we have in view. 



CHAP. I.] INTERPRETED. 7 

Among the minor poems of Spenser, the reader 
may have noticed, or may easily turn to, one 
entitled Colin Clouts Come Home Again, pub- 
lished in 1591 or 1595. It was addressed or dedi- 
cated to Sir Walter Raleigh, by the poet himself, 
who calls it a " simple Pastoral ;" and whilst, in the 
usual strain of dedications, the poet speaks of the 
poem as " unworthy " the higher " conceipt " of his 
noble friend, for its " meanness of style," he asserts 
its agreement " with truth, in circumstance and mat- 
ter ;" more than hinting, in the same dedication, at 
what the poet calls the "malice of evil mouths, 
which are always [says he] open to carpe at and 
misconstrue [his] simple meaning." 

A modern editor quotes from the Retrospective 
Review^ to show that the object of the poet (in Colin 
Clouts) was to give " an account of his return to 
England, and of his presentation to Queen Elizabeth, 
and of several persons attached to the Court ;" and 
the Reviewer remarks, that the poem might have 
been highly interesting at the time it was written, 
but that its chief interest is now lost, declaring that 
" it possesses nothing striking, either in character or 
description, to attract a modern' reader" — but he 
should have added, a modern reader of the Hume 



8 COLIN CLOUTS [ 



CHAP. I. 



school, who would doubtless see as little to attract 
in this pastoral as in the more elaborate poem of the 
Faerie Queene. 

We will now show, by a few notes, the general 
purpose of this pastoral, one of the most remarkable 
poems in the English language, and leave the reader 
to reflect upon the probable result of a study of the 
Faerie Queene itself, an acknowledged allegory, if 
pursued from some similar point of view ; and as we 
feel under no obligations of secresy, we will say at 
once, that : 

The Pastoral, entitled Colin Clouts Come Home 
Again, was not designed to refer, in the remotest 
degree, to Queen Elizabeth; but the poem agrees 
" with truth in circumstance and matter " (as the 
dedication reads), with a mental journey by the poet 
himself, in the very spirit of Christianity, into what 
may be called the spiritual world — the Arcadia of 
the ancient poets; where the poet meets with the 
mystic Queen of Arcadia, the object of so much pas- 
sionate devotion by a long succession of spirituelle 
poets, who, under the guise of addressing some Delia, 
or Celia, or Lilia, Phoebe, Daphne, or Chloe, have 
cloaked a love which, because not generally recog- 
nised, except as addressed to some veritable woman. 



CHAP. I.] INTEEPRETED. 9 

has been usually regarded as having no other subject 
than woman ; who, indeed, may become the true ob- 
ject of love, as represented in the drama of King 
Rene's daughter, when her beauty and perfection 
are seen in the light of what must be called, for the 
sake of truth, Divine Love. 

Let the reader admit for a moment that there is a 
land, an unseen land, which, in order to have a name 
for it, we will call Arcadia ; but, though called a 
land^ this word is only used figuratively. It repre- 
sents not merely an imaginary land, but the land of 
imagination, a word of immense significance ; for 
from that land the world receives its Iliads, Odysseys, 
and ^neids, a great nmltitude of Promethean 
stories, and innumerable tales of chivalry in both 
prose and verse. 

Let it be supposed, we say, as a mere hypothesis, 
that there is an Arcadian land, a world in which 
poets find a congenial home, where they conceive the 
great works of Art through which their names 
become immortal. This is making but a very small 
demand upon the candor of the student, who must 
reasonably agree that the ancient and ever-renewed 
claim of the poets, that their art proceeds from a 



10 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. i. 

divine gift, the nature of which can perhaps only be 
properly known by poets themselves, must have 
some truth to rest upon. Genuine poets — we do 
not refer to mere versifiers, who have often only an 
acquired skill in word-jingling — are a peculiar class 
of men, not as having an actual faculty unknown to 
other men, but because of a peculiar awakening of 
their faculties which, under favorable circumstances, 
opens to them such views of life as, for want of a 
better explanation, may be considered a divine gift — 
very much as the religious faculty, though common 
to all mankind, receives at times an extraordinary 
illumination, as if from a supernatural source ; and 
it may indeed be regarded as supernatural, if we 
define nature from a low point of view, as the mere 
material fabric of the world. 

We desire to induce the reader to accept the 
suggestion as probable, that poets of the class 
referred to have access, either through nature or 
grace, to a certain interior world of ideas and 
feelings, which for the present we will call Arcadia ; 
not a visible place, yet often figured as a land^ 
with mountains and streams, where the sun, or we 
may say the moon, if we please, never sets, and 
where there is a never-ending summer — as we find 



OHAP. I.] INTERPRETED. 11 

it referred to in the 18th Sonnet of Shakespeare in 
the line : 

"Thy eternal summer shall not fade;" 

or again in the 91th Sonnet : 

"For summer and his pleasures wait on thee." 

This land, or Arcadia, is well described in the 
little poem of Heriot de Borderie, inserted in the 
preface to Remarks on Alchemy and the Alchemists. 

"There is an isle 
Full, as they say, of good things ; — fruits and trees 
And pleasant verdure ; a very master-piece 
Of nature's ; where the men immortally 
Live, following all delights and pleasures. There 
Is not, nor eVer hath been. Winter's cold 
Or Summer's heat, the season still the same, — 
One gracious Spring, where all, e'en those worst used 
By fortune, are content. Earth willingly 
Pours out her blessing: the words "thine'' and "mine" 
Are not known 'mongst them: all is common, free 
From pain and jealous grudging. Reason rules, 
Not fantasy : every one knows well 
What he would ask of other; every one 
What to command: thus every One hath that 
Which he doth ask; What is commanded, does. 
This island hath the name of Fortunate; 



12 COLIN CLOUTS [c 



HAP. I. 



And, as they tell, is governed by a Queen 

Well-spoken and discreet, and therewithal 

So beautiful, that, with one single beam 

Of her great beauty, all the country round 

Is rendered shining. When she sees arrive 

(As there are many so exceeding curious 

They have no fear of danger 'fore their eyes) 

Those who come suing to her, and aspire 

After the happiness which she to each 

Doth promise in her city, she doth make 

The strangers come together; and forthwith, 

Ere she consenteth to retain them there, 

Sends for a certain season all to sleep. 

When they have slept so much as there is need, 

Then wake they them again, and summon them 

Into her presence. There awaits them not 

Excuse or caution; speech however bland, 

Or importunity of cries. Each bears 

That on his forehead written visibly. 

Whereof he hath been dreaming. They whose dreams 

Have been of birds and hounds, are straight dismissed; 

And at her royal mandate led away, 

To dwell thence-forward with such beasts as these. 

He who hath dreamed of sconces broken, war, 

And turmoil, and sedition, glory won, 

And highest feats achieved, is, in like guise, 

An exile from her court; whilst one whose brow 

Is pale, and dead, and withered, showing care 



CHAP. I.] INTEKPEETED. 13 

Of pelf and riches, she no less denies 

To be his queen and mistress. None, in brief, 

Keserves she of the dreamers in her isle, 

Save him, that, when awakened he returns, 

Betrayeth tokens that of her rare beauty 

His dreams have been. So great dehght hath she 

In being and in seeming beautiful. 

Such dreamer is right welcome to her isle. 

All this is held a fable : but who first 
Made and recited it hath, in this fable, 
Shadowed a Truth. 

This isle we take to be the Arcadian land. It is 
owned or visited in common by all genuine poets, 
who, because they know that admission to that 
beautiful country is accorded only to a favored 
class, and to those only upon their being in posses- 
sion of certain required credentials, rarely give any 
hint even of the true character of the country to 
the non-elect. They only write of it in a mystery, 
or under the guise of writing about something else, 
which, as in the poem of Colin Clouts, may be 
understood, or misunderstood, as a poem in honor 
of Queen Elizabeth ; who has, however, as little to 
do with that poem as she has with the Apocalypse 
and its New Jerusalem. We propose to show that 



14 COLIN CLOUTS. [chap. i. 

Colin Clouts Come Home Again, is a poetic hint, 
not only of the reality of the Arcadian land, but 
that it lets the reader into some acquaintance with 
the method of access to it, and particularly gives 
us a glimpse of the Queen herself under the name 
of Cynthia — which may be applicable to the Queen 
of the isle in Borderie's poem just recited. 

We here give the poem itself, according to its name, with all 
its notes, as we find it in the 5th volume of Spenser's Works, 
published in Boston by Little & Brown, 1860. The dissent of 
the author of the Kemarks from the opinion expressed in some 
of the notes^ will appear in the progress of the Remarks. 



COLIN CLOUTS 

COME HOME AGAIJ^E. 

BY ED. SP. 
1595. 



TO THE EIGHT WOETHY AND NOBLE KNIGHT 

SIR WALTER RALEIGH, 

OAPTAINE OF HEE MAIESTIE8 GUAED, LOED WAEDEIN OF 

THE STANNEEIES, AND LIEUTENANT OF 

THE OOUNTIE OF COENWALL. 

SlE, 

That yon may see that I am not alwaies ydle as yee 
tliinke, though not greatly well occupied, nor altogither un- 
dutifull, though not precisely officious, I make you present 
of this simple Pastorall, unworthie of your higher conceipt 
for the meanesse of the stile, but agreeing with the truth in 
circumstance and matter. The which I humbly beseech you 
to accept in part of paiement of the infinite debt, in whicli 
I acknowledge my selfe bounden unto you for your singular 
favours, and sundrie good turnes, shewed to me at my late 
being in England ; and with your good countenance protect 
against the malice of evill mouthes, which are alwaies wide 
open to carpe at and misconstrue my simple meaning. I 
pray continually for your happinesse. From my house of 
Kilcolman, the 27. of December. 
1591. [rather perhaps 1595.] 

Yours ever humbly, 

Ed. Sp. 



COLIN CLOUTS 
OOME HOME AGAINE.* 



The shepheards boy (best knowen by that name) 

That after Tityrus first sung his lay, 

Laies of sweet love, without rebuke or blame, 

Sate (as his custome was) upon a day. 

Charming^ his oaten pipe unto his peres, 5 

The shepheard swaines that did about him play: 

Who all the while, with greedie listfuU eares, 

Did stand astonisht at his curious skill, 

Like hartlesse deare, dismayd with thunders sound. 

* Charming, tuning. 
Ver. 2. — Tityrus. '\ Chaucer. 

* " In the year 1595, Spenser published Colin Clouts come Home againe, 
a sort of pastoral, giving an account of his return to England, of his 
presentation to Queen Elizabeth, and of several persons attached to the 
court. It might be highly interesting at the time it -was written, but 
its chief interest is now lost. It possesses nothing striking, either in 
character or description, to attract a modem Tesider."— Retrospective Review. 

[The author of the Remarks dissents from this opinion, and from several 
others expressed in the notes to this poem.] 



18 COLIN CLOUTS 

At last, when as he piped had his fill, 10 

He rested him: and, sitting then around. 

One of those groomes (a iollj groome was he, 

As ever piped on an oaten reed. 

And lov'd this shepheard dearest in degree, 

Hight^ Hohbinol;) gan thus to him areed. 15 

" Colin, my liefe,'^ my life, how great a losse 
Had all the shepheards nation by thy lacke ! 
And I, poore swaine, of many, greatest crosse! 
That, sith^ thy Muse first since thy turning backe 
Was heard to sound as she was wont on hye, 20 

Has made us all so blessed and so blythe. 
Whilest thou wast hence, all dead in dole* did lie: 
The woods were heard to waile full many a sythe,^ 
And all their birds with silence to complaine : 
The fields with faded flowers did seem to raourne, 25 
And all their flocks from feeding to refrain : 
The running waters wept for thy returne, 
And all their fish with languor did lament: 
But now both woods and fields and floods revive, 
Sith^ thou art come, their cause of merriment, 30 
That US, late dead, hast made againe alive : 
But were it not too painefuU to repeat 
The passed fortunes, which to thee befell 

^ HigJit, called. * Sith, since. " Sythe, time. 

" Liefe, dear. * Dole, grief. 

Ver. 15,— Hobbinol.'] This is Spenser's friend, Gabriel Harvey. 



COME HOME AGAINE. 19 

In thy late voyage, we thee would entreat, 

Now at thy leisure them to us to tell." 35 

To whom the shepheard gently answered thus; 
" Hobhin, thou temptest me to that I covet : 
For of good passed newly to discus, 
By dubble usurie doth twise renew it. 
And since I saw that angels blessed eie, 40 

Her worlds bright sun, her heavens fairest light, 
My mind, full of my thoughts satietie. 
Doth feed on sweet contentment of that sight: 
Since that same day in nought I take delight, 
Ne feeling have in any earthly pleasure, 45 

But in remembrance of that glory bright. 
My lifes sole blisse, my hearts eternall threasure. 
Wake then, my pipe; my sleepie Muse, awake; 
Till I have told her praises lasting long: 
Hobbin desires, thou maist it not forsake; — 50 

Harke then, ye ioUy shepheards, to my song." 

With that they all gan throng about him neare, 
With hungrie eares to heare his harmonie: 
The whiles their flocks, devoyd of dangers feare, 
Did round about them feed at libertie. 55 

" One day (quoth he) I sat (as was my trade) 
Tinder the foote of Mole, that mountaine hore, 
Keeping my sheepe amongst the cooly shade 



20 COLIN CLOUTS 

Of the greene alders by the Mullaes shore: 

There a straunge shepheard chaunst to find me out, 60 

"Whether allured with my pipes delight, 

Whose pleasing sound yshrilled^ far about, 

Or thither led by chaunce, I know not right: 

Whom when I asked from what place he came, 

And how he hight,'^ himselfe he did ycleepe^ 65 

The Shepheard of the Ocean by name. 

And said he came far from the main-sea deepe. 

He, sitting me beside in that same shade, 

Provoked me to plaie some pleasant fit*; 

And, when he heard the musicke which I made, 70 

He found himselfe full greatly pleasd at it: 

Yet, semuling^ my pipe, he tooke in hond 

My pipe, before that semuled of many. 

And plaid thereon; (for well that skill he cond®;) 

Himselfe as skilfull in that art as any. 75 

He pip'd, I sung ; and, when he sung, I piped ; 

* Tshrilled, sounded shrill. " Hight, was called. 

9 Tcleepe, call. 
* Fit, strain. * ^muling y rivalling. 

" Cond, knew. 

Ver. 59. — By the Mullaes shore.] " The MuUa is the river Awheg, 
which runs not far from Kilcolman, Spenser's residence, and washes 
J3uttevant, Doneraile, Castletown-Boch, &c." — Todd. 

Ver. 66. — The Shepheard of the Ocean.] This is Sir Walter Raleigh, 
whom Spenser accompanied into England, and by whom he was introduced 
to Queen Elizabeth. 



80 



85 



COME HOME AGAINE. 21 

By chaunge of turnes, each making other mery; 
Neither envying other, nor envied, 
So piped we, untill we both were weary." 
There interrupting him, a bonie swaine, 
That Cuddy hight,' him thus atweene bespake: 
" And, should it not thy readie course restraine, 
I would request thee, Colin, for my sake. 
To tell what thou didst sing, when he did plaie; 
For well I weene it worth recounting was, 
Whether it were some hymne, or morall laie, 
Or carol made to praise thy loved lasse." 

"Nor of my love, nor of my lasse, (quoth he,) 
I then did sing, as then occasion fell: 
For love had me forlorne, forlorne of me, 90 

That made me in that desart choose to dwell. 
But of my river Bregogs love I soong, 
Which to the shiny Mulla he did beare, 
And yet doth beare, and ever will, so long 
As water doth within his bancks appeare." 

" Of fellowship (said then that bony Boy) 
Record to us that lovely lay againe: 
The stale whereof shall nought these eares annoy 
Who all that Colin makes do covet faine." 

" Heare then (quoth he) the tenor of my tale, 100 
In sort as I it to that shepheard told : 

^ Hight, was called. 



95 



22 COLIN CLOUTS 

No leasing ^ new, nor grandams fable stale, 
But auncient truth confirm'd with credence old. 

"Old father Mole, (Mole hight that mountain gray- 
That walls the northside of ArmuUa dale ;) lOfi 
He had a daughter fresh as floure of May, 
Which gave that name unto that pleasant vale; 
MuUa, the daughter of old Mole, so hight '^ 
The Nimph, which of that water course has charge, 
That, springing out of Mole, doth run downe right 110 
To Buttevant, where, spreading forth at large, 
It giveth name unto that auncient Cittie, 
Which KilnemuUah cleped ^ is of old ; 
Whose ragged mines breed great ruth and pittie 
To travailers, which it from far behold. 115 
Full faine she lov'd, and was belov'd full faine 
Of her owne brother river, Bregog hight,^ 
So hight ^ because of this deceitfull traine, 
Which he with MuUa wrought to win delight. 
But her old sire more carefull of her good, 120 
And meaning her much better to preferre, 
Did thinke to match her with the neighbour flood, 
Which Alio hight,^ Broad- water called farre; 
And wrought so well with his continuall paine, 

^ Leasing, falsehood. " Hight, called, * Cleped, named. 

Ver. 111.— Bregog hight.] Bregog, according to Todd, means false or 
lying. 



COME HOME AGAINE. 23 

That lie that river for his daughter wonne : 125 

The dowre agreed, the day assigned plaine, 

The place appointed where it should be doone. 

Nath'lesse the Nymph her former liking held ; 

For love will not be drawne, but must be ledde ; 

And Bregog did so well her fancie weld,^ 130 

That her good will he got her first to wedde. 

But for her father, sitting still on hie, 

Did warily still watch which way she went. 

And eke from far observ'd, with iealous eie, 

"Which way his course the wanton Bregog bent; 135 

Him to deceive, for all his watchfuU ward. 

The wily lover did devise this slight : 

First into many parts his streame he shar'd, 

That, whilest the one was watcht, the other might 

Passe unespide to meete her by the way ; 140 

And then, besides, those little streames so broken 

He under ground so closely^ did convay. 

That of their passage doth appeare no token, 

Till they into the Mullaes water slide. 

So secretly did he his love enioy: 145 

Yet not so secret, but it was descride, 

And told her father by a shepheards boy. 

"Who, wondrous wroth for that so foule despight, 

In great avenge did roll downe from his hill 

Huge mightie stones, the which encomber might 150 

* Wdd, wield, sway. " Closely, secretly. 



24 COLIN CLOUTS 

His passage, and his water-courses spill.* 

So of a Kiver, which he was of old, 

He none was made, but scattred all to nought; 

And, lost emong those rocks into him rold. 

Did lose his name: so deare his love he bought." 155 

Which having said, him Thestylis bespake ; 
"Now by my life this was a mery lay, 
Worthie of Colin selfe, that did it make. 
But read now eke, of friendship I thee pray, 
What dittie did that other shepheard sing: 160 

For I do covet most the same to heare, 
As men use most to covet forreine thing." 

" That shall I eke (quoth he) to you declare : 
His song was all a lamentable lay 
Of great unkindnesse, and of usage hard, 165 

Of Cynthia the Ladie of the Sea, 
Which from her presence faultlesse him debard. 
And ever and anon, with singulfs rife,^ 
He cryed out, to make his undersong; 
Ah ! my loves queene, and goddesse of my life, 170 
Who shall me pittie, when thou doest me wrong ? " 

Then gan a gentle bonylasse to speake. 
That Marin hight; "Eight well he sure did plaine, 

* Spill, spoil. • Singulfs ri/e, frequent sobs. 

Ver. 166. — 0/ Cynthia the Ladie of the Sea.] Queen Elizabeth ; prob- 
ably an allusion to Sir W. Raleigh's temporary disgrace and banishment 
from court, on account of his intrigue with Elizabeth Throgmorton. 



COME HOME AGAINE. 25 

That could great Cynthiaes sore displeasure breake, 
And move to take him to her grace againe. 175 

But tell on further, Colin, as befell 
Twixt him and thee, that thee did hence dissuade." 
" When thus our pipes we both had wearied well, 
(Quoth he,) and each an end of singing made, 
He gan to cast great lyking to my lore, 180 

And great dislyking to my lucklesse lot, 
That banisht had my selfe, like wight forlore,* 
Into that waste, where I was quite forgot. 
The which to leave, thenceforth he counseld mee, 
Unmeet for man, in whom was ought regardfull, 185 
And wend ^ with him, his Cynthia to see ; 
Whose grace was great, and bounty most rewardfuU. 
Besides her peerlesse skill in making^ well, 
And all the ornaments of wondrous wit, 
Such as all womankynd did far excell ; 190 

Such as the world admyr'd, and praised it: 
So what with hope of good, and hate of ill, 
He me perswaded forth with him to fare. 
Nought tooke I with me, but mine oaten quill: 
Small needments else need shepheard to prepare. 195 
So to the sea we came ; the sea, that is 
A world of waters heaped up on hie, 
Eolling like mountaines in wide wildernesse, 
Horrible, hideous, roaring with hoarse crie." 

» Forlore, forlorn. » Wend, go. " Making, versifying. 

2 



26 COLIN CLOUTS 

" And is the sea (quoth Coridon) so fearfull ? " 200 
"Fearful much more (quoth he) then hart can fear : 
Thousand wyld beasts with deep mouthes gaping direful! 
Therin stil wait poore passengers to teare. 
Who life doth loath, and longs death to behold, 
Before he die, alreadie dead with feare, . 205 

And yet would live with heart halfe stonie cold, 
Let him to sea, and he shall see it there. 
And yet as ghastly dreadfull, as it seemes, 
Bold men, presuming life for gaine to sell, 
Dare tempt that gulf, and in those wandring stremes 210 
Seek waies unknowne, waies leading down to hell. 
For, as we stood there waiting on the strond, 
Behold, an huge great vessell to us came, 
Dauncing upon the waters back to loud, 
As if it scornd the daunger of the same ; 215 

Yet was it but a wooden frame and fraile, 
Glewed togither with some subtile matter. 
Yet had it armes and wings, and head and taile, 
And life to move it selfe upon the water. 
Strange thing ! how bold and swift the monster was, 220 
That neither car'd for wynd, nor haile, nor raine, 
Nor swelling waves, but thorough them did passe 
So proudly, that she made them roare againe. 
The same aboord us gently did receave. 
And without harme us farre away did beare, 225 

So farre that land, our mother, us did leave, 



COME HOME AGAINE. 27 

And nought but sea and heaven to us appeare. 

Then hartelesse quite, and full of inward feare, 

That shepheard I besought to me to tell, 

Under what skie, or in what world we were, 230 

In which I saw no living people dwell. 

"Who, me recomforting all that he might. 

Told me that that same was the Regiment^ 

Of a great shepheardesse, that Cynthia hight, 

His liege, his Ladie, and his lifes Regent. — 235 

" If then (quoth I) a shepheardesse she bee. 

Where be the flockes and heards, which she doth keep ? 

And where may I the hills and pastures see. 

On which she useth for to feed her sheepe ? " 

"These be the hiUs, (quoth he,) the surges hie, 240 
On which faire Cynthia her heards doth feed : 
Her heards be thousand fishes with their frie. 
Which in the bosome of the billowes breed. 
Of them the shepheard which hath charge in chief, 
Is Triton, blowing loud his wreathed home : 245 

At sound whereof, they all for their relief 
Wend too and fro at evening and at morne. 
And Proteus eke with him does drive his heard 
Of stinking seales and porcpisces^ together. 
With hoary head and deawy dropping beard, 250 

Compelling them which way he list, and whether. 
And I, among the rest, of many least, 

^ Regiment, kingdom. " Porcpisces, porpoises. 



28 COLIN CLOUTS 

Have in the Ocean charge to me assignd ; 

Where I will live or die at her beheast, 

And serve and honour her with faithfull mind. 255 

Besides an hundred Xymphs all heavenly borne, 

And of immortall race, doo still attend 

To wash faire Cynthiaes sheep, when they be shorne, 

And fold them up, when they have made an end. 

Those be the shepheards which my Cynthia serve 260 

At sea, beside a thousand moe at land: 

For land and sea my Cynthia doth deserve 

To have in her command ement at hand." 

Thereat I wondred much, till, wondring more 
And more, at length we land far off descryde: 26? 
Which sight much gladed me; for much afore 
I feard, least land we never should have eyde : 
Tkereto our ship her course directly bent, 
As if the way she perfectly had knowne. 
We Lunday passe; by that same name is ment 270 
An island, which the first to west was showne. 
From thence another world of land we kend,^ 
rioting amid the sea in ieopardie, 
And round about with mightie white rocks hemd, 
Against the seas encroching crueltie. 275 

Those same, the shepheard told me, were the fields 
In which dame Cynthia her landheards fed ; 
Faire goodly fields, then which Armulla yields 

* Kend, discerned. 



COME HOME AGALNE. 29 

l^one fairer, nor more fruitfull to be red/ 

The first, to which we nigh approched, was 280 

An high headland thrust far into the sea. 

Like to an home, whereof the name it has, 

Yet seerad to be a goodly pleasant lea: 

There did a loftie mount at first us greet, 

"Which did a stately heape of stones upreare, 285 

That seemd amid the surges for to fleet,^ 

Much greater then that frame, which us did beare : 

There did our ship her fruitfull wombe unlade, 

And put us all ashore on Cynthias land. 

" What land is that thou meanst, (then Cuddy sayd.) 
And is there other then whereon we stand?" 290 

" Ah ! Cuddy, (then quoth Colin,) thous a fon,^ 
That hast not seene least part of natures worke: 
Much more there is unkend^ then thou doest kon,^ 
And much more that does from mens knowledge 

lurke. 295 

For that same land much larger is then this, 
And other men and beasts and birds doth feed : 
There fruitfull corne, faire trees, fresh herbage is, 
And all things else that living creatures need. 
Besides most goodly rivers there appeare, 300 

Ko whit inferiour to thy Fanchins praise, 

* Red, perceived. ' Fleet, float. » fhous afon, thou art a fool. 

* XTnkend, unknown. * Korl, know. 

Ver. 281.— ^» high headland.] Cornwall. 



30 ' COLIN CLOUTS 

Or unto Alio, or to Mulla cleare : 

Nought hast thou, foolish boy, seene in thy dales." 

"But if that land be there (quoth he) as here, 
And is theyr heaven likewise there all one ? 305 

And, if like heaven, be heavenly graces there, 
-Like as in this same world where we do woue^?" 

" Both heaven and heavenly graces do much more 
(Quoth ho) abound in that same land then this. 
For there all happie peace and plenteous store 310 
Conspire in one to make contented blisse : 
No wayling there nor wretchednesse is heard, 
No bloodie issues nor no leprosies. 
No griesly famine, nor no raging sweard,'^ 
No nightly bodrags,^ nor no hue and cries; 315 

The shepheards there abroad may safely lie. 
On hills and downes, withouten dread or daunger : 
No ravenous wolves the good mans hope destroy, 
Nor outlawes fell affray the forest raunger. 
There learned arts do florish in great honor, 320 

And Poets wits are had in peerlesse price : 
Keligion hath lay powre to rest upon her. 
Advancing vertue and suppressing vice. 
For end, all good, all grace there freely growes, 
Had people grace it gratefully to use: 325 

For God his gifts there plenteously bestowes, 
But gracelesse men them greatly do abuse." 

^ Wone, dwell. " Sweard, sword. ' Bodrags, border ravaging. 



COME HOME AGAINE. 31 

"But say on further (then said Corylas) 
The rest of thine adventures, that betyded/ " 

" Foorth on our voyage we by land did passe, 330 
(Quoth he,) as that same shepheard still us gnyded, 
TJntill that we to Oynthiaes presence came: 
Whose glorie greater then my simple thought, 
I found much greater then the former fame; 
Such greatnes I cannot compare to ought: 335 

But if I her like ought on earth might read,^ 
I would her lyken to a crowne of lillies 
Upon a virgin brydes adorned head. 
With roses dight' and goolds* and daffadillies ; 
Or like the circlet of a turtle true, 840 

In which all colours of the rainbow bee ; 
Or like faire Phebes garlond shining new, 
In which all pure perfection one may see. 
But vaine it is to thinke, by paragone ^ 
Of earthly things, to iudge of things divine : 345 

Her power, her mercy, and her wisdome, none 
Can deeme, but who the Godhead can define. 
Why then do I, base shepheard, bold and blind, 
Presume the things so sacred to prophane ? 
More fit it is t' adore, with humble mind, 350 

The image of the heavens in shape humane." 

With that Alexis broke his tale asunder, 

^ Betyded, happened. " Head, perceive. ' Dight, adorned. 
* Goolds, marigolds. ° Paragone, comparison. 



32 COLIN CLOUTS 

Saying; "By wondring at thy Oynthiaes praise, 
Colin, thy selfe thou mak'st us more to wonder, 
And her upraising doest thy selfe upraise. 355 

But let us heare what grace she shewed thee. 
And how that shepheard strange thy cause advanced." 

" The Shepheard of the Ocean (quoth he) 
Unto that Goddesse grace me first enhanced. 
And to mine oaten pipe enclin'd her eare, 360 

That she thenceforth therein gan take delight. 
And it desir'd at timely houres to heare, 
All were my notes but rude and roughly dight; 
For not by measure of her owne great mynd. 
And wondrous worth, she mott ' my simple song, 365 
But ioyd that country shepheard ought could fynd 
"Worth barkening to, emongst the learned throng." 

" Why ? (said Alexis then,) what needeth shee 
That is so great a shepheardesse her selfe, 
And hath so many shepheards in her fee,^ 370 

To heare thee sing, a simple silly elfe? 
Or be the shepheards which do serve her laesie,^ 
That they list not their mery pipes applie? 
Or be their pipes untunable and craesie, 
That they cannot her honour worthylie ? " 375 

" Ah ! nay (said Colin) neither so, nor so : 
For better shepheards be not under skie, 

1 MoU, meted, measured. ' In her fee, at her command. 

* Laesie, lazy. 



COME HOME AGAINE. 33 

Nor better hable, wKen they list to blow 

Their pipes aloud, her name to glorifie. 

There is good Ilarpalus, now woxen aged 380 

In faithful service of faire Cynthia : 

And there is Cory don through meanly waged, 

Yet hablest wit of most I know this day. 

And there is sad Alcyon bent to mourne, 

Though fit to frame an everlasting dittie, 385 

Whose gentle spright for Daphnes death doth tourn 

Sweet layes of love to endlesse plaints of pittie. 

Ah ! pensive boy, pursue that brave conceipt. 

In thy sweet Eglantine of Meriflure ; 

Lift up thy notes unto their wonted height, 390 

That may thy Muse and mates to mirth allure. 

There eke is Palin worthie of great praise, 

Albe ^ he envie at my rustick quiU : 

And there is pleasing Alcon, could he raise 

llis tunes from laies to matter of more skill. 395 

* Alhe, although. 

Ver. 380. — Sarpalus.] " Harpalus is probably Barnaby Googe, who 
was first a retainer to Cecil, and afterwards, in 1563, a gentlenuin pensioner 
to the queen." — Todd. 

Ver. 3S2.—Coryd(m.] Corydon, according to the same authority, is 
Abraham Fraunce, a poet and friend of Sir Philip Sidney. 

Ver. 384. — Alcyon.] Alcyon is Sir Arthur Gorges, upon the death of 
whose wife, here mentioned under the name of Daphne, Spenser wrote his 
" Daphnaida." 

Ver. 392.— Palin.] Todd conjectures that Palin means Thomas Chaloner, 
a poet of some reputation in his day. 

2* 



34 COLIN CLOUTS 

And there is old Palemon free from spight, 

Wtiose carefull pipe may make the hearer rew : 

Yet he himselfe may rewed be more right, 

That sung so long nntill quite hoarse he grew. 

And there is Alabaster throughly' taught 400 

In all this skill, though knowen yet to few; 

Yet, were he knowne to Cynthia as he ought, 

His Eliseis would be redde anew. 

Who lives that can match that heroick song, 

Which he hath of that mightie Princesse made? 405 

dreaded Dread, do not thy selfe that wrong, 

To let thy fame lie so in hidden shade: 

But call it forth, O call him forth to thee. 

To end thy glorie which he hath begun : 

That, when he finisht hath as it should be, 410 

No braver Poeme can be under sun. 

Nor Po nor Tyburs swans so much renowned, 

Nor all the brood of Greece so highly praised. 

Can match that Muse when it with bayes is crowned. 

And to the pitch of her perfection raised. 415 

And there is a new shepheard late up sprong, 

^ ThrougJiIy, thorougMy. 

Ver. 396. — Palemon.] *' Old Palemon seems to point at Thomas Church- 
yard, who wrote a prodigious number of poetical pieces." — Todd. 

Ver. 400. — Alabaster,] This is a real name. — William Alabaster was a 
scholar and poet of Spenser's time, of considerable eminence. His poem of 
Elistiis, here mentioned, was never printed, but still exists among the MS-S. 
of Emmanuel College, Cambridge. 



COME HOME AGAINE. 



35 



The which doth all afore him far surpasse ; 
Appearing well in that well tuned song, 
Which late he sung unto a scornful lasse. 
Yet doth his trembling Muse but lowly flie, 420 

As daring not too rashly mount on hight, 
And doth her tender plumes as yet but trie 
In loves soft laies and looser thoughts delight. 
Then rouze thy feathers quickly, Daniell, 
And to what course thou please thy self advance : 425 
But most, me seemes, thy accent will excell 
In tragick plaints and passionate mischance. 
And there that Shepheard of the Ocean is. 
That spends his wit in loves consuming smart: 
Full sweetly tempred is that Muse of his, 430 

That can empierce a Princes mightie hart. 
There also is (ah no, he is not now !) 
But since I said he is, he quite is gone, 
Amyntas quite is gone and lies full low, 
Having his Amaryllis left to mone. 435 

Helpe, ye shepheards, helpe ye all in this, 
Helpe Amaryllis this her losse to mourne : 
Her losse is yours, your losse Amyntas is, 
• Amyntas, floure of shepheards pride forlorne: 

Yer. m.-Damell,] Samuel Daniell, a well-known English poet, of 
whom it is enough to say, that he has been highly commended by Words- 
worth and Coleridge. 

Ver. m.-Amyntas.] Amyntas, according to Todd, moans Ferdinando 
Earl of Derby, a nobleman of poetical taste, who died in 1594. 



36 COLIN CLOUTS 

He whilest he lived was the noblest swaine, 440 

That ever piped in an oaten quill: 

Both did he other, which could pipe, maintaine, 

And eke could pipe himselfe with passing skill. 

And there, though last not least, in Aetion ; 

A gentler shepheard may no where be found : 445 

Whose Muse, full of high thoughts invention, 

Doth like himselfe heroically sound. 

All these, and many others mo remaine, 

Now, after Astrofell is dead and gone: 

But, while as Astrofell did live and raine, 450 

Amongst all these was none his paragone. 

All these do florish in their sundry kynd, 

And do their Cynthia immortall make: 

Yet found I lyking in her royall mynd, 

Not for my skill, but for that shepheards sake." 455 

Then spake a lovely lasse, hight Lucida; 
" Shepheard, enough of shepheards thou hast told, 
"Which favour thee, and honour Cynthia: 
But of so many nymphs, which she doth hold 
In her retinew, thou hast nothing sayd; 460 

That seems, with none of them thou favor foundest, 
Or art ingratefuU to each gentle mayd, 
That none of all their due deserts resoundest." 

Ver. Hi.— Aetion.] Aetion, according to Todd, is Michael Drayton, the 
well-known author of the Polyolbion, &c. 
Ver. iid— Astrofell] Sir Philip Sidney. 



COME HOME AGAINE. 37 

" Ah far be it (quoth Colin Clout) fro me, 
That I of gentle mayds should ill deserve: 465 

For that my selfe I do professe to be 
Vassall to one, whom all my dayes I serve; 
The beame of beautie sparkled from above, 
The floure of vertue and pure chastitie, 
The blossome of sweet ioy and perfect love 470 

The pearle of peerlesse grace and modestie : 
To her my thoughts I daily dedicate, 
To her my heart I nightly martyrize ^ : 
To her my love I lowly do prostrate. 
To her my life I wholly sacrifice : 475 

My thought, my heart, my love, my life is shee. 
And I hers ever onely, ever one : 
One ever I all vowed hers to bee. 
One ever I, and others never none." 

Then thus Melissa said; "Thrise happie Mayd, 480 
Whom thou doest so enforce to deifie : 
That woods, and hills, and valleyes thou hast made 
Her name to eccho unto heaven hie. 
But say, who else vouchsafed thee of grace ? " 

" They all (quoth he) me graced goodly well, 485 
That all I praise; but, in the highest place, 
Urania, sister unto Astrofell, 

^ Martyrize, devote as a martyr. 
Ver. 487. — Urania, &c.] Mary Countess of Pembroke, sister of Sir 
Philip Sidney, the subject of Ben Jonson's well-known epitaph : 



38 COLIN CLOUTS 

In whose brave mynd, as in a golden cofer, 

All heavenly gifts and riches locked are; 

More rich then pearles of Ynde, or gold of Opher, 490 

And in her sex more wonderfull and rare. 

Ne lesse praise- worthie I Theana read, 

"Whose goodly beames though they be over dight^ 

With mourning stole ^ of carefulP wydowhead, 

Yet through that darksome vale do glister bright ; 495 

She is the well of bountie and brave mynd, 

Excelling most in glorie and great light: 

She is the ornament of womankind, 

And courts chief garlond with all vertues dight. 

Therefore great Cynthia her in chiefest grace 500 

Doth hold, and next unto her selfe advance, 

"Well worthie of so honourable place, 

For her great worth and noble governance. 

Ne lesse praise-worthie is her sister deare, 

Faire Marian, the Muses onely darling: 505 

" Underneatli this sable herse 
Lies the subject of all verse ; 
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother : 
Death, ere thou hast killed another, 
Fair, and learned, and good as she, 
Time shall throw a dart at thee." 

* Over dight, covered over. " Stole, robe. * Carefull, sorrowfull. 

Yer. 492. — Theana.] TJteana, according to Todd, is Anne, thitd wife of 
the Earl of Warwick, whose exemplary widowhood is commended in the 
Ruines of Time, ver. 250, &c. 

Ver. 505. — Marian.] Margaret Countess of Cumberland, to whom and 
her sister, the Countess of Warwick, Spenser inscribes his Four Byrtins. 



COME HOME AGAINE. 39 

Whose beautie shyneth as the morning cleare, 

With silver deaw upon the roses pearling. 

Ne lesse praise-worthie is Mansilia, 

Best knowne by bearing up great Oynthiaes traine : 

That same is she to whom Daphnaida 510 

Upon her neeces death I did complaine: 

She is the paterne of true woraanhead, 

And onely mirrhor of feminitie : 

Worthie next after Cynthia to tread, 

As she is next her in nobilitie. 515 

Ne lesse praise-worthie Galathea seemes, 

Then best of all that honourable crew, 

Faire Galathea with bright shining beames, 

Inflaming feeble eyes that her do view. 

She there then waited upon Cynthia, 520 

Yet there is not her won ^ ; but here with us 

About the borders of our rich Coshma, 

Now made of Maa, the Nympli delitious. 

Ne lesse praise-worthie faire Neaera is, 

Neaera ours, not theirs, though there she be ; 525 

For of the famous Shure, the Nymph she is. 

For high desert, advaunst to that degree. 

She is the blosome of grace and curtesie, 

Adorned with all honourable parts: 

* Won, dwelling. 

Ver. 508.— Mansilia.] Helena Marchioness of Northampton, to wliom 
Gaphnaida is inscribed. 



40 COLIN CLOUTS 

She is the braunch of true nobilitie, 530 

Belov'd of high and low with faithful! harts. 

Ne lesse praise-worthie Stella do I read, 

Though nought my praises of her needed arre, 

Whom verse of noblest shepheard lately dead 

Hath prais'd and rais'd above each other starre. 535 

Ne lesse praise-worthie are the sisters three, 

The honor of the noble familie: 

Of which I meanest boast my selfe to be, 

And most that unto them I am so nie : 

Phyllis, Charillis, and sweet Amaryllis. 640 

Phyllis, the faire, is eldest of the three : 

The next to her is bountifull Charillis : 

But th' youngest is the highest in degree. 

Phyllis, the floure of rare perfection, 

Faire spreading forth her leaves with fresh delight, 545 

That, with their beauties amorous reflexion. 

Bereave of sence each rash beholders sight. 

But sweet Charillis is the paragone 

Ver. 532. — Stella.] This is Lady Penelope Devereux, daughter of "Walter 
Earl of Essex, of whom Sir Philip Sidney was an unsuccessful lover. He 
celebrated her in his Arcadia under the name of Philoclea, and in that of 
Stella in his poems of Astro fell. She became the wife of Robert Lord Rich. 

Ver. 540.— Phyllis, &c.] On Todd's authority, Phillis, Charillis, and 
Amaryllis are the three daughters of Sir John Spenser. Charillis was mar- 
ried, at this time, to Sackville Lord Buckhurst, being her third husband. 
Mother Hubberds Tale is dedicated to her. Amaryllis is Lady Strange, to 
whom the Teares of the Muses is inscribed. Phillis is Lady Carey, to whom 
Muiopotmos is inscribed. 



COME HOME AGAINE. 41 

Of peerlesse price, and ornament of praise,- 

Admyr'd of all, yet envied of none, 550 

Through the myld temperance of her goodly raies. 

Thrise happie do I hold thee, noble swaine, 

The which art of so rich a spoile possest, 

And, it embracing deare without disdaine. 

Hast sole possession in so chaste a brest : 555 

Of all the shepheards daughters which there bee, 

And yet there be the fairest under skie. 

Or that elsewhere I ever yet did see, 

A fairer Nymph yet never saw mine eie ; 

She is the pride and primrose of the rest, 560 

Made by the Maker selfe to be admired ; 

And like a goodly beacon high addrest. 

That is with sparks of heavenlie beautie fired. 

But Amaryllis, whether fortunate 

Or else unfortunate may I aread, 565 

That freed is from Cupids yoke by fate. 

Since which she doth new bands adventure dread, — 

Shepheard, what ever thou hast heard to be 

In this or that praysd diversly apart, 

In her thou maist them all assembled see, 570 

And seald up in the threasure of her hart. 

Ne thee lesse worthie, gentle Flavia, 

For thy chaste life and vertue I esteeme: 

Ne thee lesse worthie, curteous Candida, 

For thy true love and loyal tie I deeme. 575 



42 COLIN CLOUTS 

Besides yet many mo that Cynthia serve, 

Eight noble Nymphs, and high to be commended : 

But, if I all should praise as they deserve, 

This sun vrould faile me ere I halfe had ended. 

Therefore, in closure of a thankfull mynd, 580 

I deeme it best to hold eternally 

Their bounteous deeds and noble favours shrynd, 

Then by discourse them to indignifie." 

So having said, Aglaura him bespake : 
" Colin, well worthie were those goodly favours 585 
Bestowed on thee, that so of them doest make. 
And them requitest with thy thankfull labours. 
But of great Cynthiaes goodnesse, and high grace. 
Finish the storie which thou hast begunne." 

" More eath ^ (quoth he) it is in such a case 590 
How to begin, then know how to have donne. 
For everie gift, and everie goodly meed. 
Which she on me bestowed, demaunds a day; 
And everie day, in which she did a deed, 
Demaunds a yeare it duly to display. 595 

Her words were like a streame of honny fleeting, 
The which doth softly trickle from the hive : 
Hable to melt the hearers heart unweeting," 
And eke to make the dead againe alive. 
Her deeds were like great clusters of ripe grapes, 600 
"Which load the bunches of the fruitfull vine ; 

^ Eath, easy. " Unweeting, unconsciously. 



COME HOME AGAINE. 43 

OfFring to fall into each mouth that gapes, 

And fill the same with store of timely wine. 

Her lookes were like beames of the morning sun, 

Forth looking through the windowes of the east, 605 

When first the fleecie cattell have begun 

Upon the perled grasse to make their feast. 

Her thoughts are like the fume of franckincence, 

Which from a golden censer forth doth rise, 

And throwing forth sweet odours mounts fro thence 610 

In rolling globes up to the vauted ' skies. 

There she beholds, with high aspiring thought, 

The cradle of her owne creation, 

Emongst the seats of angels heavenly wrought, 

Much like an angell in all forme and fashion." 615 

*' Colin, (said Cuddy then,) thou hast forgot 
Thy selfe, me seemes, too much, to mount so hie : 
Such loftie flight base^ shepheard seemeth not. 
From flocks and fields, to angels and to skie." 

" True, (answered he,) but her great excellence 620 
Lifts me above the measure of my might : 
That, being fild with furious insolence, 
I feele my selfe like one yrapt in spright.^ 
For when I thinke of her, as oft I ought, 
Then want I words to speake it fitly forth : 625 

And, when I speake of her what I have thought, 

^ Vauted, vaulted. ^ Base, humble. 

* Frapt in spright, rapt in spirit. 



44 COLIN CLOUTS 

I cannot thinke according to her worth. 

Yet will I tliinke of her, yet will I speake, 

So long as life my limbs doth hold together ; 

And, when as death these vitall bands shall breake, 630 

Her name recorded I will leave for ever. 

Her name in every tree I will endosse/ 

That, as the trees do grow, her name may grow : 

And in the ground each where will it engrosse, 

And fill with stones, that all men may it know. 635 

The speaking woods, and murmuring waters fall, 

Her name He teach in knowen termes to frame: 

And eke my lambs, when for their dams they call, 

lie teach to call for Cynthia by name. 

And, long while after I am dead and rotten, 640 

Amongst the shepheards daughters dancing rownd, 

My layes made of her shall not be forgotten, 

But sung by them with flowry gyrlonds crownd. 

And ye, who so ye be, that shall survive, 

When as ye heare her memory renewed, 645 

Be witnesse of her bountie here alive. 

Which she to Colin her poore shepheard shewed." 

Much was the whole assembly of those beards 
Moov'd at his speech, so feelingly he spake : 
And stood awhile astonisht at his words, 650 

Till Thestylis at last their silence brake, 
Saying; "Why Colin, since thou foundst such grace 

* Endosse, write on the back, engrave. 



COME HOME AGAINE. 45 

With Cynthia and all her noble crew; 

Why didst thou ever leave that happie place, 

In which such wealth might unto thee accrew ; 655 

And back returnedst to this barrein soyle, 

Where cold and care and penury do dwell, 

Here to keep sheepe, with hunger and with toyle? 

Most wretched he, that is and cannot tell." 

"Happie indeed (said Colin) I him hold, 660 

That may that blessed presence still enjoy, 
Of fortune and of envy uncomptrold. 
Which still are wont most happie states t' annoy : 
But I, by that which little while I prooved, 
Some part of those enormities did see, 665 

The which in court continually hooved,^ 
And followed those which happie seemed to bee. 
Therefore I, silly man, whose former dayes 
Had in rude fields bene altogether spent. 
Durst not adventure such unknowen wayes, 670 

Nor trust the guile of fortunes blandishment ; 
But rather chose back to my sheep to tourne, 
Whose utmost hardnesse I before had tryde. 
Then, having learnd repentance late, to mourne 
Emongst those wretches which I there descryde." 675 

" Shepheard, (said Thestylis,") it seemes of spight. 
Thou speakest thus gainst their felicitie, 
Which thou enviest, rather then of right 

^ Hooved, hovered. 



46 COLIN CLOUTS 

That ought in them blameworthie thou doest spie." 

" Cause have I none (quoth he) of cancred will 680 
To quite ^ them ill, that me demeand ^ so well : 
But selfe-regard of private good or ill 
Moves me of each, so as I found, to tell 
And eke to warne yong shepheards wandring wit, 
Which, through report of that lives painted blisse, 685 
Abandon quiet home, to seeke for it, 
And leave their lambes to losse misled amisse. 
For, sooth ^ to say, it is no sort of life, 
For shepheard fit to lead in that same place, 
Where each one seeks with malice, and with strife, 690 
To thrust dowhe other into foule disgrace, 
Himselfe to raise : and he doth soonest rise 
That best can handle his deceitfuU wit 
In subtil shifts, and finest sleights devise, 
Either by slaundring his well deemed name, 695 

Through leasings lewd,* and fained forgerie ; 
Or else by breeding him some blot of blame, 
By creeping close into his secrecie ; 
To which him needs a gullefull hollow hart. 
Masked with faire dissembling curtesie, 700 

A filed ^ toung furnisht with tearmes of art, 
No art of schoole, but courtiers schoolery. 
For arts of schoole have there small countenance, 

' Quite, requite. ^ Demeand, treated. ^ Sooth, truth. 

* Leasings lewd, wicked falsehoods. * Filed, smooth, artful. 



COME HOME AGAINE. 47 

Counted but toyes to bnsie ydle braines ; 

And there professours find small maintenance, 705 

But to be instruments of others gaines. 

ISTe is there place for any gentle wit, 

Unlesse, to please, it selfe it can applie ; 

But shouldred is, or out of doore quite shit, 

As base, or blunt, unmeet for melodie. 710 

For each mans worth is measured by his weed,^ 

As harts by homes, or asses by their eares : 

Yet asses been not all whose eares exceed, 

Nor yet all harts that homes the highest beares. 

For highest lookes have not the highest mynd, 715 

N'or haughtie words most full of highest thoughts : 

But are like bladders blowen up with wynd, 

That being prickt do vanish into noughts. 

Even such is all their vaunted vanitie, 

Nought else but smoke, that fumeth soone away : 720 

Such is their glorie that in simple eie 

Seeme greatest, when their garments are most gay. 

So they themselves for praise of fooles do sell. 

And all their wealth for painting on a wall ; 

With price whereof they buy a golden bell, 725 

And purchase highest rowmes in bowre and hall : 

Whiles single Truth and simple Honestie 

Do wander up and downe despys'd of all ; 

Their plaine attire such glorious gallantry 

^ Weed, dress. 



48 COLIN CLOUTS 

Disdaines so much, that none them in doth call." 730 

" Ah ! Oolin, (then said Hobbinol,) the blame 
Which thou imputest, is too geuerall, 
As if not any gentle wit of name 
Nor honest mynd might there be found at all. 
For well I wot,^ sith '^ I my selfe was there, 735 

To wait on Lobbin, (Lobbin well thou knewest,) 
Full many worthie ones then waiting were, 
As ever else in princes court thou vewest. 
Of which, among you many yet remaine, 
Whose names I cannot readily now ghesse : 740 

Those that poore Sutors papers do retaine, 
And those that skill of medicine professe, 
And those that do to Cynthia expound 
The ledden ^ of straunge languages in charge : 
For Cynthia doth in sciences abound, 745 

And gives to their professors stipends large. 
Therefore uniustly thou doest wyte * them all. 
For that which thou mislikedst in a few." 

'• Blame is (quoth he) more blamelesse generall, 
Then that which private errours doth purse w ; 750 
For well T wot,^ that there amongst them bee 
Full many persons of right worthie parts. 
Both for report of spotlesse honestie, 
And for profession of all learned arts, 

^ Wot, know. '■^ Ledden, dialect. 

■-' Sith, since. * Wyte, blame. 



COME HOME AGAINE. 49 

Whose praise hereby no whit impaired is, 

Though blame do light on those that faultie bee; 

For all the rest do most-what ^ far amis, 

And yet their owne misfaring ^ will not see : 

For either they be puffed up with pride, 

Or fraught with envie that their galls do swell. 

Or they their dayes to ydlenesse divide, 

Or drownded die in pleasures wastefull well, 

In which like moldwarps ^ nousling ■* still they lurke, 

Unmindful] of chiefe parts of manlinesse ; 

And do themselves, for want of other worke, 

Yaine votaries of laesie^ Love professe, 

Whose service high so basely they ensew, 

That Cupid selfe of them ashamed is. 

And, mustring all his men in Venus vew, 

Denies them quite for servitors of his." 

" And is love then (said Corylas) once knowne 
In Court, and his sweet lore professed there? 
I weened sure he was our god alone, 
And only woond ® in fields and forests here : " 

" Not so, (quoth he,) Love most aboundeth there. Y75 
For all the walls and windows there are writ, 
All full of love, and love, and love my deare, 
And all their talke and studie is of it. 
Ne any there doth brave or valiant seerae, 

* Most-what, generally. ^ Moldwarps, moles. " Laesie, lazy. 

" Misfaring, evil-doing. * Noulsing, burrowing. * Woond, dwelt. 

3 



50 COLIN CLOUTS 

Unlesse that some gay Mistresse badge lie beares : 

Ne any one himselfe doth ought esteeme, 

Unlesse he swim in love up to the eares. 

But they of Love, and of his sacred lere,' 

(As it should be,) all otherwise devise. 

Then we poore shepheards are accustomd here, 

And him do sue and serve all otherwise. 

For with lewd '^ speeches, and licentious deeds, 

His mightie mysteries they do prophane, 

And use his ydle name to other needs, 

But as a complement for courting -vaine. 

So him they do not serve as they professe, 

But make him serve to them for sordid uses : 

Ah ! my dread Lord, that doest liege hearts possesse, 

Avenge thy selfe on them for their abuses. 

But we poore shepheards whether rightly so, 

Or through our rudenesse into errour led. 

Do make religion how we rashly go 

To serve that god, that is so greatly dred ^ ; 

For him the greatest of the gods we deeme, 

Borne without syre or couples of one kynd ; 

For Venus selfe doth soly'' couples seeme. 

Both male and female through commixture ioynd: 

So pure and spotlesse Cupid forth she brought, 

And in the Gardens of Adonis nurst : 

^ Lere, lore. ^ Dred, dreaded. 

" Lewd, evil. * Soly, solely. 



COME HOME AGAINE. 51 

Where growing he his owne perfection wrou;j;ht, 
And shortly was of all the gods the first. 
Then got he bow and shafts of gold and lead, 
In which so fell and puissant he grew, 
That love himselfe his powre began to dread. 
And, taking up to heaven, him godded^ new. 
From thence he shootes his arrowes every where 
Into the world, at random as he will, 
On us fraile men, his wretched vassals here, 
Like as himselfe us pleaseth save or spill.'^ 
So we him worship, so we him adore 
With humble hearts to heaven uplifted hie, 
That to true loves he may us evermore 
Preferre, and of their grace us dignifie : 
Ne is there shepheard, ne yet shepheards swaine, 
What ever feeds in forest or in field. 
That dare with evil deed or leasing ^ vaine 
Blaspheme his powre, or termes unworthie yield." 
"Shepheard, it seemes that soidc celestiall r;ige 
Of love (quoth Cuddy) is breath'd into thy brest, 
That powreth forth these oracles so sage 
Of that high powre, wherewith thou art possest. 
But never wist* I till this present day, 
Albe * of Love I alwayes humbly deemed, 

^ Godded, made a god. * Leasing, falsehood. 

■ Spill, spoil. * Wist, knew. 

" Albe, althougli. 



52 COLIN CLOUTS 

That he was sucli an one, as thou dost say, 
And so religiously to be esteemed. 
Well may it seeme, by this thy deep insight. 
That of that god the priest thou shouldest bee; 
So well thou wot'st ^ the mysterie of Ms might, 
As if his godhead thou didst present see." 

" Of Loves perfection perfectly to speake. 
Or of his nature rightly to define, 
Indeed (said Colin) passeth reasons reach. 
And needs his priest t' expresse his powre divine. 
For long before the world he was ybore,^ 
And bred above in Venus bosome deare: 
For by his powre the world was made of yore, 
And all that therein wondrous doth appeare. 
For how should else things so far from attone,^ 
And so great enemies as of them bee. 
Be ever drawne together into one, 
And taught in such accordance to agree? 
Through him the cold began to covet heat, 
And water fire ; the light to mount on liie, 
And til' heavie downe to peize * ; the hungry t' eat, 
And voydnesse to seek full satietie. 
So, being former foes, they wexed friends. 
And gan by little learne to love each other : 
So, being knit, they brought forth other kynds 

^ Wot'st, knowest. ' Attone, at one, in harmony. 

* Ybare, bom. * Peize^ poise, weigh. 



COME HOME AGAINE. 53 

Out of the fruitfull wombe of their great mother. 
Then first gan heaven out of darknesse dread 
For to appeare, and brought forth chearfull day: 
Next gan the earth to shew her naked head, 
Out of deep waters which her drownd alway : 
And, shortly after, everie living wight 
Crept forth like wormes out of her shmie nature. 
Soone as on them the suns life-giviug light 
Had powred kindly heat and formall feature, 
Thenceforth they gan each one his like to love, 
And like himselfe desire for to beget : 
The lyon chose his mate, the turtle dove 
Her deare, the dolphin his owne dolphinet ; 
But man, that had the sparke of reasons might 
More then the rest to rule his passion. 
Chose for his love the fairest in his sight, 
Like as himselfe was fairest by creation : 
For Beautie is the bayt which with delight 
Doth man allure for to enlarge his kynd ; 
Beautie, the burning lamp ot heavens light, 
Darting her bearaes into each feeble mynd : 
Against whose powre, nor God nor mancanfynd 
Defence, ne ward the daunger of the wound ; 
But, being hurt, seeke to be medicynd 
Of her that first did stir that mortall stownd.^ 
Then do they cry and call to Love apace, 

' Stownd, attack. 



54 COLIN CLOUTS 

With praiers loud importuning the skie, 
Whence he them heares ; and, when he list shew grace 
Does grannt them grace that otherwise would die. 
So Love is lord of all the world by ^right, 
And rules their creatures by his powerfull saw ^ ; 
All being made the vassals of his might, 
Through secret sence which therto doth them draw. 
Thus ought all lovers of their lord to deeme ; 
And with cljaste heart to honor him alway: 
But who so else doth otherwise esteeme, 
Are outlawes, and his lore do disobay. 
For their desire is base, and doth not merit 
The name of love, but of disloyal lust : 
Ne mongst true lovers they shall place inherit, 
But as exuls ^ out of his court be thrust." 
So having said, Melissa spake at will ; 
" Colin, thou now full deeply hast divynd 
Of Love and Beautie ; and, with wondrous skill, 
Hast Cupid selfe depainted in his kynd. 
To thee are all true lovers greatly bound. 
That doest their cause so mightily defend ; 
But most, all wemen are thy debtors found, 
That doest their bountie still so much commend." 
" That ill (said Hobbinol) they him requite, 
For having loved ever one most deare : 
He is repayd with scorne and foule despite, 
* Saw, sentence, decree. * Exuls, exiles. 



COME HOME AGAESTE. 55 

That yrkes^ eacli gentle heart which it doth heare." 

" Indeed (said Lucid) I have often heard 
Fair Kosalind of divers fowly blamed 
For being to that swaine too cruell hard ; 
That her bright glorie else hath much defamed. 
But who can teU wh .t cause had that faire Mayd 
Tn use him so that used her so well ; 
Or who with blame can iustly her upbrayd, 
For loving not? for who can love compell? 
And, sooth ^ to say, it is foolhardie thing, 
Rashly to wyten ^ creatures so divine ; 
For demigods they be, and first did spring 
From heaven, though graft in frailnesse feminine. 
And well I wote,^ that oft I heard it spoken. 
How one, that fairest Helene did revile, 
Through iudgment of the gods to been ywroken,^ 
Lost both his eyes, and so remaynd long while, 
Till he recanted had his wicked rimes, 
And made amends to her wdth treble praise. 
Beware therefore, ye groomes, I read ® betimes, 
How rashly blame of Rosalind ye raise," 

^' Ah ! shepheards, (then said Colin,) ye neweef 
How great a guilt upon your heads ye draw. 
To make so bold a doome, with words unmeet, 

^ Trices, grieves. " Sooth, truth. ' Wyten, blame. 

* Wote, know. * YwroJcen, avenged, punished. " Bead, advise. 

^ TFeei, know. 
Ver. 920— How one, &c.] This story is told of the poet Stesichorus. 



66 COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. 

Of thing celestiall whicli ye never saw. 
For she is not like as the other crew 
Of shepheards daughters which emongst you bee, 
But of divine regard and heavenly hew, 
Excelling all that ever ye did see. 
Not then to her that scorned tiling so base, 
But to my selfe the blame that lookt so hie : 
So hie her thoughts as she her selfe have place, 
And loath each lowly thing with loftie eie. 
Yet so much grace let her vouchsafe to grant 
To simple swaine, sith ^ her I may not love : 
Yet that I may her honour paravant,^ 
And praise her worth, though far my wit above. 
Such grace shall be some guerdon for the griefe. 
And long affliction which I have endured : 
Such grace sometimes shall give me some reliefe, 
And ease of paine which cannot be recured. 
And ye, my lellow shepheards, which do see 
And hear the languours of my too long dying, 
Unto the world for ever witnesse bee. 
That hers I die, nought to the world denying, 
This simple trophe ^ of her great conquest." — 
So, having ended, he from ground did rise ; 
And after him uprose eke all the rest. 
All loth to part, but that the glooming skies 
Warnd them to draw their bleating flock-i to rest, 

' SUh, since. " Paravant, publicly. * Trophe, trophy. 



CHAPTER 11. 

We remark, first, that by shepherds, in this poem, 
we are to understand Shepherds of Arcadia; and 
these again are honest men, and sometimes poets, 
who are supposed to be true to Nature, their sove- 
reign mistress. Their so-called " oaten pipe," is a 
figure for their musical or harmonious spirits, which 
are supposed to be attuned to one universal har- 
mony, by which they harmonize with each other, 
and are thus classed together as " peers," line 5 of 
the poem. But, although thus classed together, 
they manifest every diversity, as among each other, 
just as we know the poets of Spenser's age did at 
the time when, in the character of Colin Clouts, the 
poet represents himself as accosted by one whom he 
calls a groom, "hight" Hobbinol (line 15), with a 
request to detail his adventures during a certain 
journey, telling him how sad a time his absence had 
given his friends, during which (line 23) : 



58 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. ii. 

The woods were heard to wail full many a time, 
And all the birds with silence to complain. 
The fields with faded flowers did seem to mourn, 
And all the flocks from feeding to refram. 

The running waters even wept for his return, 
&c. 

The writer of these remarks is led to suppose 
that the touching beauty of this lament does not lie 
in the mere fact that some shepherds have been 
moved to this mode of expressing their grief for the 
temporary absence of a companion, but he sees in 
these lines the peculiar grief which marks a poet's 
sense of deprivation, when what is called the spirit 
has been withdrawn. He is reminded by these lines 
of the 97th Sonnet of Shakespeare : 

♦' How like a winter hath my absence been 
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! 
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen ! 
What old December's bareness everywhere ! 
And yet this time remov'd was sunamer's time — 
****** 

For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 
And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; 



CHAP. II.] INTERPRETED. 59 

Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer. 

That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near." 

This expresses the grief of the poet for the ab- 
sence of the Arcadian Beauty; and this is the sense 
of the lines in Spenser where Colin, for the purposes 
of the poet, represents the spirit of Arcadia itself. 

Nothing is more common among the poets than 
these expressions of deep grief at periods when the 
poetic inspiration is withdrawn; and this is true 
also of certain religious temperaments, as may be 
seen in the life of Pay son and others. Geo. Herbert 
is an example of both, being a religious poet. He 
is perpetually lamenting the absence of the Spirit, 
meaning the Spirit of Christ. A poem in his works 
entitled " A Parodie," begins thus : 

" Souls joy, when thou art gone 
And I alone, 
Which cannot be. 
Because thou dost abide with me, 
And I depend on thee ; 

Yet when thou dost suppress 
The cheerfulness 
Of thy abodCj 
[meaning his soul] 



60 COLIN CLOUTS [chap, it 

And in my powers not stir abroad, 
But leave me to my load : 



what a damp and shade 
Doth me invade ! 
No stormy night 

Can so aflaict, or so affright, 
As thy eclipsed light." 



The writer did not intend to run into these com- 
parisons, and yet they furnish materials for seri- 
ous psychological study ; for it is not at all beyond 
the limits of the possible, but that Herbert and Spen- 
ser had a vision of the same (Arcadian) land, though 
under some unimportant varying accompaniments ; 
and if we could discover a definite object in the poet 
of the Canticles, we might make an important dis- 
covery touching some of the most wonderful and 
fascinating experiences in life. 

But we must return from this digression. 

Colin, that is, the poet, being invited, as we have 
said, to give an account of his journey, which we 
insist was a journey to Arcadia, or the poet's para- 
dise, professes himself very willing to yield assent 
(line 37, &c.), declaring how happy his journey had 



CHAP. 



ii] INTERPRETED. ' 61 



made him ; for, says he, referring to the queen of the 
country he had visited (line 40, &c.) : 

Since I saw that angel's blessed eye, 

Her world's bright sun, her heaven's fairest light, 

My mind, full of my thoughts' satietie, 

Doth feed on sweet contentment of that sight : 

No feeling have in any earthly pleasure. 

But in remembrance of that glory bright, 

My life's sole bliss, my heart's eternal treasure. 

Spenser's 35th Sonnet, and Shakespeare's 109th 
and 112th Sonnets, are written in the same vein. 

The poet now commences his story (line 56), by 
giving an account, to be understood as mystical, of 
his having been seated at the/bo^ of a certain mount, 
which he calls Mole<; and, while there seated, play- 
ing, as he tells us, upon his oaten reed, he was visited 
by a " strange shepherd " (line 60). 

Here we must draw slightly upon the reader's 
concessions; for we understand by this "strange 
shepherd " what we must for the present call — and 
we pray the reader not to be startled — this strange 
shepherd we must call, we say, the Spirit of Truth ; 
or if the reader chooses to imagine an intervening 



62 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. a. 

visitant, he may be likened to the Orphan Boy in 
the story of the Red Book of Appin. 

He calls himself the Shepherd of the Ocean (line 
66), in answer to a question by Colin; and the 
Ocean referred to is the great Ocean of Life, out of 
which there comes to some favored mortals, from 
time to time, a certain spirit, here personified as a 
Strange Shepherd. 

The reader is now expected to notice that the 
HONEST shepherd has drawn to himself, as it were, 
a SENSE of the great harmony with whom, or with 
which, as the reader pleases, a spirit -friendship 
is formed. The unity of the two in spirit is poeti- 
cally discovered and described in the lines from 
68 to 79: 

He piped, [says Colin,] I sung; 
And wtien he sung, I piped, 
Neither envying the other nor envied. 

In one word, the honest man has discovered 
a principle in himself, the nature of which becomes 
so far disclosed as to bring to the shepherd a pro- 
found conviction of its similitude to the true good in 
life, and this produces in the mind of the man a 



CHAP. II.] INTERPRETED. 63 

certain impulse which, personified, is represented as 
an invitation to leave the "waste" into which he 
had been led by his association, as we shall soon see, 
with a stream, the Bregog by name. 

But Cuddy steps in (line 81), and asks Colin the 
burden of the song which had attracted the strange 
shepherd ; and that, it appears, " referred " to the 
river Bregog, just named (line 92) — and here we 
must anticipate the story so far as to say, that the 
river Bregog signifies the false^ as the poem will 
presently show us ; and we must observe further, 
that, in the story about to be told by Colin, there 
are two streams, described as at the foot of Old 
Mole, one named the " Mulla," and the other this 
"/«^se" river Bregog. 

These two streams figure the true and the false 
in life. We shall not err if we consider them as rep- 
resenting in the nature of man — his nature partaking 
of both— God and the world: they are called in 
Scripture God and Balaam, and man is required to 
" choose " which he will follow, as in Joshua xxiv. 
15. They are likewise called life and death, between 
which man is also required to choose, as in Deut. 
XXX. 19. 

It must be noticed, that when Colin consents to 



64 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. ii. 

tell the burden of his song, he warns his hearers 
(line 103) that he is about to tell 

No leasing [or lyingl new, nor grandame's fable stale, 
But ancient Truth, confirmed with credence old. 

Then follows the introductory story, from line 
104 to 155, which should be looked at with care ; for 
it is a mystical account of the birth of man, substan- 
tially according to the " ancient Truth " in Genesis. 
We say substantially ; because it is not pretended 
that the poet has attempted to adhere literally to the 
ancient record, as that would not have answered the 
Hermetic purpose of the figurative version in the 
poem. 

The expression " Old Mole " is clearly figurative, 
and has several significations, according to the con- 
ditions or requirements of the poem. It is a figure 
for Nature as the mother of all things, and figures 
also the father, who becomes visible in a mystic 
sense in the mother. 

Old Mole, 

we see, had a daughter " fresh as flowei' of May " 
(line 106) ; and this is a figure for life — fresh young 
life — compared to a river, the Mulla. 



CHAP 



ir.l INTERPRETED. 65 

She is called a Nymph, and is said to give her 
name to the " pleasant vale " at the foot of Old Mole ; 
and the vale is said to be " pleasant," to indicate a 
characteristic of the morning of life. 

But this stream is described as running to a city 
(line 113) called Kilnemullah, 

Whose ragged ruins breed great ruth and pity 
To travellers, which it from far behold. 

The city of Kilnemullah and its " ragged and 
pitiable " condition indicates the fate or destination 
of multitudes who turn aside from " the strait and 
narrow way " into the broad road, which the Scripture 
tells us " leadeth to destruction." 

The poet tells us that Old Mole (in line 120 
called the Old Sire), originally designed to match 
the nymph with Alio or Broadwater, for which he 
wrought so well, it appears, that the match was de- 
cided upon : 

The dower agreed, the day assigned plaine, 
The place appointed where it should be done. 

In these lines the Alio, or Broadwater, signifies 
the universal life, to which individual life-streams, in 
the providence of God, were destined, the union 
being compared to a marriage, as it is in Scripture. 



66 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. ii. 

The " dower " referred to (line 125), is eternal life; 
the " day " for entrance upon it, is the day of death ; 
and the " place " for the final consummation of the 
design of the Old Sire, is the other world. 

We next come to the causes of the unhappy fate 
of so many whose lives run to the city of Kilnemul- 
lah, where the ragged and desolate ruins are seen. 

The poet tells us (line 116) that the beautiful 
Nymph, hight [or called] Mulla, 

loved and was beloved full faine 

Of her own brother river, Bregog hight, — 

SO called, as we are now told, because of the deceit 
Which he with Mulla wrought to win delight. 

It may seem a strange flight of fancy, except to a 
poet, to represent two rivers as loving each other ; 
but the figure will be readily recognized when we 
see that one of the rivers represents, as we have 
said, the true, and the other the false ; and that they 
are called sister and brother; by Avhich it will be 
understood that the two streams figure but one life, 
in which two principles are contained, familiarly 
called good and evil, sometimes soul and body, and, 
in symbolical language, sister and brother. 



CHAP. 



II.] INTERPRETED. 67 



This part of the story is now soon told ; for we 
see that evil assails the good, or, in other words, courts 
and persuades it even to the point of bringing about 
what is called a "wedding" (line 131); by which 
we are to understand that our mother Eve is here 
represented as fatally eating the apple : for, we re- 
peat, we are reading, as the poet warns us (line 103), 
not a modern lie, but an ancient truth. The curious 
reader may *find this intimated in Shakespeare's 
144th Sonnet : 

" Two loves I have of comfort and despair, 
Which like two spirits do suggest me still : 
The better angel is a man right fair, 
The worser spirit a woman colour' d ill. 
To win me soon to hell, my female evil 
Tempteth my better angel from my side, 
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, 
Wooing his purity with her foul pride." 

By the Alio, or Broadwater (line 123), we are to 
understand, as just stated, the great ocean of life, to 
which the Mulla was originally destined, and would 
have happily reached, had not the Nymph, unfor- 
tunately, been carried into Babylonish captivity by 
the false, the "wily" Bregog (line 137) ; which 



68 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. ii. 

doubtless had the very nature of the Serpent in the 
original story. 

The arts of this enemy of mankind are character- 
istically described (line 136, &c.). He first divides 
into many streams, according to the nature of the 
false, unity being the principle and property of the 
true ; and then, these fiilse streams are described as 
running " under ground " — it being the property of 
the false to hate the light. 

Thus matters stand until a certain sense of honesty .^ 
called a shepherd's hoy (line 147) brings to the 
knowledge of Old Mole, who is in truth the man, 
the microcosm of the story, in whom all this life is 
dramatically represented, the character of the unfor- 
tunate marriage of the true with the false ; where- 
upon Old Mole is described as rolling down " great 
stones," (that is, solid principles,) by which the false 
is destroyed — this being its proper destiny. 

This story, the reader must notice, is represented 
as having been told by Colin (himself the represen- 
tative man in the story), to the Strange Shepherd; 
and when the character of this shepherd comes to be 
understood, as it will be in the development of the 
poem, it will be seen that the story of Colin has the 
nature of a confession— =^a true confession-^-^^upon which 



CHAP. 11.] INTERPRETED. 69 

account the Strange Shepherd is said to be attracted 
to the simple but honest Colin. 

Through this confession the two shepherds — ^two 
in appearance, though in fact there is but one — dis- 
cover their intimate relation to each other ; or, in 
other words, by means of this honest confession, 
Colin himself discovers something of the nature of 
truth, and of its similitude, as a principle developed 
in himself, to a certain principle of Truth recognized 
as the Spirit of universal life. 

This sense of the unity of Truth in Colin himself 
with the Spirit of Truth, is, in short, here personified 
as the Strange Shepherd, so called, because it is a 
new, or unaccustomed sense of Truth in a supreme 
degree. 

Colin now determines to " follow " this indication, 
as John follows the Lamb in the Gospel : for we 
must keep in mind that we are reading an " ancient 
truth." 

The poet gives us the story in a dramatic form, 
and for his purpose, we say, he personifies the Spirit 
of Truth as a Strange Shepherd, coming from the 
great Ocean (of life) ; and assigns to him a special 
office, that of inviting Colin to leave the " waste " (or 
desert, as Isaiah calls it) into which his " evil com- 



To COLIN CLOUTS ^ [chap. ii. 

niuiiications " had led Mm, and that of persuading 
the sufferer to go with him to see his queen. 

This queen we name with some hesitation, because 
of the insufficiency of the words to represent her; 
but for our purposes we may call her Truth itself, 
or Truth and Reason, if the reader chooses, for the 
two will be found together bathing in the mystic 
love-bath ; and this queen is also the Queen of the 
Fortunate Isle, in the poem of Borderie. 

As we intend to deal openly with this Hermetic 
poem, we say that this invitation to leave the 
" waste " (line 183), is simply at first an impulse in 
the man himself, the real subject of the story, and 
makes itself felt as an " authoritative conscience," as 
this same subject is presented in the letter of Wil- 
helm to Natalia, in the first chapter of Meister's 
Travels. 

Here we have what, in Scripture, is compared to 
a mustard-seed, said to be the smallest of seeds ; but 
its character in Colin Clouts must be determined by 
the offices attributed to the Strange Shepherd. At 
proper periods in the development of the story it will 
be seen, that he first invites Colin to leave the 
" waste " into which an evil life had led him (1. 183). 



CHAP. II.] INTERPRETED. VI 

To wend with him his Cynthia to see. 

He is then the guide in the ship to the isle (or 
spirit-land) floating amid the sea (of life, line 273). 
After reaching the isle, he continues to be the guide 
to the presence of Cynthia (line 332,) and introduces 
Colin, or the man who is the real subject of the story, 
to the Goddess, " enhancing " him in her " grace " 
(line 359) ; and above all, we see (lines 454-5) that 
the Queen accepts the man, not on account of his 
own " skill," or merit, but solely on account of the 
merit of the Strange Shepherd : 

Yet found I liking [or acceptance, as the poet means] in her 

royal mind, 
Not for my skill, but for that shepherd's sake. 

These, with other indications, show very clearly 
that, by the Strange Shepherd, the poet has design- 
edly personified the Immanuel of Scripture, and in 
the poem itself has given us the doctrine of Chris- 
tianity, the spirit of which is older than its records, 
having, in truth, the perpetual youth and summer 
which some poets understand, and so reverentially 
write about, as a " lovely boy," whose mother is the 
Virgin-Queen, the mystic " Lady " of so many reli- 
gious writers. 



72 COLIN CLOUTS [chap, ii. 

There is a recognized truth of nature in that part 
of the poem which represents the Strange Shepherd 
as complaining of the 

Great unkindnesse, and of the usage hard 
Of Cynthia the Ladie of the Sea, 

(line 165) : for, we must understand, as we repeat, 
that we are not, in fact, reading of two persons^ but 
rather of one nature, in which or in whom a sense of 
present suffering is not always accompanied with :i 
sense of wilful disobedience, while the evil is never- 
theless a suggesting truth. Hence, while the man 
suffers, he may not altogether feel the suffering as 
just. He is therefore represented as complaining of 
the "Ladie of the Sea." But the result of his con- 
templations, which are represented as a sort of dia- 
logue between two, and this again as an exercise 
upon their " pipes" (line 178), is the hnjyidse, as we 
call it, to follow the Strange Shepherd, under the 
sense of his representing the better life, where the 
man is induced to hope for what may be called the 
higher life ; and this, in truth, is the very principle of 
good, in the divine nature, which is thus drawing the 
man to Himself (John vi. 44). 

The hopes of the higher life take the form of \\w 



o.TAP. 11.] INTERPRETED. 73 

persuasions recorded in lines 187, &c., to which we 
must see that the man is partly inclined by his sense 
of the " waste " into which he had been led (line 
183). Through this channel the man comes to un- 
derstand the angel-like character of suiFering itself, 
as an instrument of good. 

It is an argument in proof of Christianity when 
we see that its records admit the inference of a cer- 
tain Spirit, called in John's Gospel the Spirit of 
•Truth (John xvi. 13), which may then be represented 
in a purely symbolical form, as in Colin Clouts, from 
which, again, the same Spirit may be reproduced 
with features clearly represented in the Gospels. 
While this process exhibits the unity of the Spirit, it 
demonstrates, at the same time, its universality and 
independence ; for, as seen from this point of view, 
the truth must be recognized as having no relation 
to time, and is therefore eternal. 

Those who require a more immediate appropri- 
ation or possession of it, while in the body, are re- 
ferred to Luke ix. 24, for the answer of the Gospel. 

It is important to keep in mind here, that Colin's 
introduction to the Queen, and his advancement into 
her " grace," is due to the Strange Shepherd, line 
4 



74 COLIN CLOUTS [ 



CHAP. IL 



358; and that, finally, his acceptance is secured 
solely by his merits, as we have already said, — this 
important fact being stated in the poem, lines 454, 
455. 

We do not propose to go much further into 
detail, but will make a few running comments upon 
the poem, in explanation of what may appear to be 
obscure to the general reader. 

The ship is represented as bringing into view 
first one island and then another, as if sailing to the 
west (line 271), discovering the second from the 
first. The second island is described as being 
guarded by " mighty white rocks," which protect 
it against 

The seas encroaching crueltie. 

The critics see in this reference to white rocks a 
clear allusion to England, with its well-known white 
clilTs ; and this has doubtless assisted in making the 
interpretation acceptable, by which the poem is 
thought to have been an account of a visit to the 
English Court, according to a note already recited. 
But let us look at this matter a little more closely. 

The ship, we are told, reaches the first island, 



OHAP. II.] INTERPRETED. 75 

moving westwardly. By the geographical position 
of England with respect to Ireland, this first dis- 
covered island (if England and Ireland were in- 
tended), should have been described with the well- 
known chalky cliffs of Dover. But this is not 
according to the poem. In the first land seen, mov- 
ing to the west, nothing is said of white rocks ; 
while, from this first discovered land, another island 
is seen, significantly described (line 273) as 

Floating amid the sea in jeopardie, 

and this second island is that which is described as 
being girt 

Round about with mighty white rocks, 

as if to guard it 

Against the seas encroaching crueltie. 

What, now, are these two islands, assuredly 
not answering, in the description of them, to Eng- 
land and Ireland ; for, besides that the second and 
not the first has the white rocks, in what respect can 
either of them be said to be in "jeopardy," exposed 
to the sea's " cruelty ? " 

We shall understand this better by considering 



76 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. ii. 

that the poem figures a man in the body, in search 
of the true life under the guidance of a mysterious 
Shepherd, who figures the Spirit of Truth. Or, 
the reader may the more readily understand the 
purpose of this poem by considering the ship as the 
figure of man in the body in search of the true life, 
under the guidance of the Spirit of Christ, having 
been " born of the Spirit," according to John iii. 8 ; 
for the man is represented as having received the 
Strange Shepherd, or Spirit of Truth, from — he 
knows not whence ; and he follows it — he knows 
not whither, bound to it only by what may be 
considered faith — faith in God, faith in Christ, faith 
in the Spirit of Truth. The first island discovered, 
is that principle which by some is called the soul, 
regarded by the ancients under the name of Demi- 
urgus, as the fabricating principle of the body ; an 
opinion of some moderns also — Swedenborg, for 
example. This is not the principle of life itself, 
though first discovered in the consciousness in what 
may be called the journey of life. 

We are only here pointing out what appears to 
have been the theory in the mind of the poet, with- 
out assuming to authorize or defend it. Nor do we 
intend or desire to assail it, as such a purpose is 



CHAP. II.] INTERPRETED. 7 7 

not within the scope we have proposed in these 
remarks. 

The first island being discovered, the second 
becomes visible (spiritually) ; and this is designed to 
figure the spirit itself, which we see is represented 
(line 273) as floating (like the Spirit of Truth) in the 
midst of the ocean (of life). This is the island which 
the poet wishes us to see, as being exposed to the 
" sea's crueltie," — a figure for the world, in respect 
to truth. But he intimates, nevertheless, that this 
sacred island is guarded by " mighty white rocks ; " 
that is, by wonderfully mysterious principles, figured 
by rocks^ to indicate their strength, and said to be 
white^ to indicate their purity ; for God has not com- 
mitted the injustice of leaving His child defenceless 
in the sea of life. The star which the wise men 
saw has been and still is under Almighty protec- 
tion, and this is what the poet intends to teach ; 
only we must concede to him the liberty of a poetic 
treatment of the subject. And now we may observe 
that the man has reached Cynthia's land (line 289) ; 
that is, he is in Arcadia, or in the Isle of Borderie's 
poem, said to be " full of good things." 

But Cuddy, or the every-day, careless reader, 
knowing little or nothing of this land, asks Colin : 



78 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. ii. 

What land is that thou meanest, 
And is there other than this whereon we stand ? 



To whom the poet answers nearly in the lan- 
guage of Hamlet after having seen his father's 
ghost : 

Ah, Cuddy, thou art a fon [a fool], 
That hast not seen the least part of Nature's work ; 
For that same land ^ is much larger than this : 

And this may very well be admitted, when we 
are quite unable to conceive any limits to it. And 
then Cuddy asks also as to the heaven of the land ; 
and is answered (line 308, &c.), almost in the lan- 
guage of the poet of the Fortunate Isle : 

Both heaven and heavenly graces do much more 

(Quoth he) abound in that same land than this. 

For there all happy peace and plenteous store 

Conspire in one to make contented bliss : • 

No wailing there, nor wretchedness is heard, 

No bloody issues nor no leprosies, 

No grisly famine, nor no raging sword, 

No nightly bodrags ^ nor no hue and cries ; 

The shepherds there abroad safely lie, 

On hills and downs, withouten dread or danger : 

' The Spirit-land, or Arcadia. ^ Raiding 



CHAP. II.] INTERPRETED. 79 

No ravenous wolves the good man's hope destroy, 

No outlaws fell affright the forest ranger. 

There learned arts do flourish in great honor, 

And poets' wits kre had in peerless price : 

Religion hath lay power to rest upon her, 

Advancing virtue and suppressing vice. 

For end [or, finally], all good, all grace, there freely grows. 

Had people grace it gratefully to use ; 

For God his gifts there plenteously bestows. 

But graceless men them greatly do abuse. 

After reading this description, it is easy to judge 
how far the condition of England in the reign of 
Queen Elizabeth may be supposed to have been in 
the eye of the poet, who must rather be supposed to 
have had in view the " Fortunate Isle," which is 
said to be 

" Full of good things ; fruits and trees 
And pleasant verdure ; a very master-piece 
Of Nature's" ; where the men immortally 
Live, following all delights and pleasures." 

If the reader still has any doubt on the subject, 
let him mark the description of the Queen, the 
Arcadian Queen, beginning at line 330 : 

Forth on our voyage we by land did pass, 
(Quoth he) as that same shepherd still us guided. 



80 COLIN CLOUTS INTERPRETED. [phap. ii 

The reader should by no means lose sight of the 
statement that the man continues upon the journey 
under the guidance of that same Strange Shepherd, 
by whom he was first persuaded to leave the 
" v/aste " or desert where the two shepherds met 
each other, which surely was the figurative Egypt : 

Forth on our voyage we by land did pass, 

As that same shepherd still us guided, 

Until we to Cynthia's presence came : 

Whose glory, greater than my simple thought, 

I found much greater than the former fame ; 

Such greatness I cannot compare to aught ; 

But if I her like aught on earth might read, 

I would liken her to a crown of UUes, 

Upon a virgin bride's adorned head. 

With roses dight, and goolds and daffodillies; 

Or like the circlet of a turtle true 

In which all colours of the rainbow be ; 

Or like Phoebe's garland shining new, 

In which all pure perfection one may see. 

But vain it is to think, by paragone 

Of earthly things, to judge of things divine : 

Her power, her mercy, and her wisdom, none 

Can deem, but who the Godhead can define. 

Why then do I, base shepherd, bold and blind, 

Presume the things so sacred to profane ? 

More fit it is t' adore, with humble mind, 

The image of the heavens in shape humane. 



CHAPTER m. 

We regard it as a mistake to teach that man 
passes suddenly from a conformity with, not to say 
a love of, the world, to the fruition of the opposite 
state, that of devotion to truth and goodness. • The 
impulse to undertake a divine life is doubtless in- 
stantaneous, and is often compared to the discovery 
of a light, as if seen from dense woods in which the 
man has been lost. This light, or the discovery of it, 
may be figured as a mustard-seed, the seed of a new 
life; but the end is not yet. The seeker, on the 
contrary, may have a long and often a weary road of 
research to travel ; and we take this occasion to say 
that, in the case of Colin, that is, of Spenser, the 
poet of the Faerie Queen, that research is repre- 
sented in the Amoretti Sonnets, which were not 
addressed, as generally supposed, to a particular 
lady, whom Spenser is said to have subsequently 
married. When those Sonnets begin to be under- 
4* 



82 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. hi. 

Stood, the absurdity of treating them as love-sonnets, 
in the popular sense of the expression, will become 
very apj^arent. They are indeed love-sonnets, and 
are properly named according to the theory of the 
time ; but the object of the love is the mystical di- 
vinity of the poets, as we may show at another 
time. We merely observe now, that the poet does 
not, at the outset, understand definitely the object he 
is in search of. He is impelled, by a sort of divine 
faith in the Strange Shepherd, to seek the mystic 
queen, as represented in Colin Clouts, in lines 192, 
&c. : 

So what with hope of good and hate of ill, 
He me persuaded forth with him to fare. 

That the man takes with him, in following the 
Strange Shepherd, only his "oaten quill" (line 194), 
contains an important hint, that the search after the 
true life is something peculiarly individual ; for, in 
one word, in the presence of God every soul ulti- 
mately becomes its own judge of itself, througli its 
own spirit, which in this poem is figured by the 
oaten quill ; and it is so figured because the soul is 
in some sort a musical instrument, which only needs 
to be properly tuned, or attuned to the divine har- 



CHAP. III.] INTERPRETED. 83 

mony, to find itself in unison with the Spirit of 
Truth, the Strange Shepherd of the poem. 

We lose much of the truth and beauty of the 
Psalms when we think of King David as actually 
seated at a harp. It is possible, indeed, that a King 
may have some skill in the mechanical use of an 
actual musical instrument ; but this would be of 
little importance in the case of David, or in our 
thought of him, if we did not understand that his 
soul was his real harp, in such wise as that the ex- 
pressions, " awake my harp," and " awake my spirit," 
signify the same thing. 

The " sea " upon which Colin is about to set 
forth is the Sea of Life, where the waters are said 
(line 197) 

* * to be heaped u ; on high, 
RoUing like mountains in wide wilderness, 
Horrible, hideous, and roaring with hoarse cry. 

To see the force of this similitude may require 
an experience of some years in the world, for Byron 
tells us that we know nothing of it while " ^^^outh's 
hot blood runs in our veins." Hence it comes that 
youth is well represented (lino 21G), as a ship of 



84 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. hi. 

wooden frame and frail, 
Glewed together with some subtle matter, 

yet fitted up with 

arms and wings and head and tail. 
And life to move itself upon the water: 
Strange thing ! how bold and swift the monster is, 
That cares not for wind, nor hail, nor rain. 
Nor swelling waves, but through them did pass 
So proudly that she made them roar again. 

Such, indeed, is a fair description of the frail but 
proud barque in which every soul sets out upon the 
journey of life, freighted with a heavenly treasure, 
exposed to numberless accidents ; for the ship is said 
(line 202) to encounter wild beasts 

with deep mouths gaping direful 
In wait poor passengers to tear. 

The poet has well described the natiyal man m 
early life (line 220) as bold and fearless ; though 
this proceeds from an ignorance of danger, and not 
from courage derived from an insight into the re- 
sponsibilities of life, or a knowledge of what are 
often called the shoals and quicksands of life, which 
is poetically called a sea. 



CHAP. III.] INTERPRETED. 85 

The ship, that is, the man, is represented as 
losing sight of the land, " our mother" (line 226), 
which may be understood as nature-land, (or the 
natural man,) being now under the guidance of the 
Strange Shepherd, who is leading the man to 
another and a better life ; and this better life must 
be understood as the Arcadia. It is to be reached 
only by means of a certain guide, who is described 
in a mystical book, quite out of print or circulation, 
as having a most singular nature. He is expressly 
called a guide, and the mystic writer says : 

"You must know how to please him, that he 
may be the more willing to go along with you in 
the right way, and not leave you as he hath done 
some, nor mislead you as he hath done others, when 
they have attempted this journey with fair success 
in the knowledge of matters requisite — have not- 
withstanding fatally erred, — not knowing how to 
please their guide who hath a humor of his own not 
to be equalled in the world ; and if you make him 
either sullen or choleric, you may as well give over 
the enterprise. First of all, then, know that for his 
part he is a very stupid fool ; there is none more 
simple among all his brethren; yet he is most 
faithful to his Lord, and doth . all things for him 



86 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. hi. 

most prudently, ordering all things in the family 
very discreetly ; — which I may rather ascribe to a 
natural instinct, than to any quickness of parts. 
He is very faithful ; for which cause he will never 
either ask or answer any question, but goes on his 
way silently ; nor will he ever go before you, but 
follow, [in this particular answering exactly to the 
Daemon of Socrates.] By his countenance you 
shall know whether he be pleased or displeased ; 
therefore lay bonds on him; that is, shut him close 
where he may not get forth : then go before with 
heat [i. e. with life or spirit], and be ever watchful 
of his countenance as he follows: his anger you 
shall know by redness in his countenance ; and his 
sullenness by his lumpish behavior : and so you 
shall pass forward, or turn, or go back, as you see 
his countenance and temper inclined." 

Here we have a description of the mysterious 
visitor, called a Strange Shepherd, who came to 
"Colin" from the "main-sea deep" (line 67), who, 
though speechless, is dramatically represented as 
talking with Colin, though, in truth, he speaks only 
in him : and if the reader does not by this time un- 
derstand who this personage is, it is to be feared he 
may not very soon become acquainted with the 



CHAP, iir.] INTERPRETED. 87 

queen in whose service he is, for here the queen is 
his " Lord " no less. 

The reader can surely now judge how far the 
description of Queen Cynthia can with any pro- 
priety be applied to the " Vixen Queen " of Eng- 
land, as described by Mrs. Jameson in her Loves of 
the Poets. It is impossible to discover the smallest 
resemblance, the difference being beyond all the lib- 
erty which the greatest license can allow the most 
subservient poet, however much disposed to flatter 
and exalt the maiden queen, who was more than 
sufficiently honored by Shakespeare when he permit- 
ted her to walk in " maiden meditation, fancy free." 

Mrs. Jameson, after stating, indeed, that there 
was something extremely poetical in the situation 
of Elizabeth as a maiden queen, raised from a 
prison to a throne, says that " for the woman her- 
self, as a woman, with her pedantry and her 
absurd affection, her masculine temper and coarse 
insolence, her sharp, shrewish, cat-like face, and her 
pretension to beauty, it is impossible to conceive 
anything more anti-poetical." And she disposes of 
this queen by telling us of her dying, " at last, 
on her palace-floor, like a crushed wasp, sick of her 
own very selfishness ; torpid, sullen, despairing ; 



88 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. hi. 

without one friend near her, without one heart 
in the wide world attached to her by affection 
or gratitude," 

Who can see any likeness in this picture to 
that of Queen Cynthia in the poem of Spenser ? 

What stupidity is this which encumbers this 
sweet pastoral with notes, gravely setting forth the 
opinion, as if it could not be controverted, that it 
was designed to give an account of a visit of the 
poet to the Court of England, and of his introduc- 
tion to Queen Elizabeth ; when, too, especially, we 
see him exhausting the power of language (line 590, 
&c.), in speaking of the benefits conferred upon him 
by the queen, whilst we know from history that 
Spenser, of all men, has described most vividly the 
horrors of a life spent in hopeless attendance upon 
the English Court, whence he derived no benefit 
worth acknowledging.' What has become of the 
taste of critics, retrospective reviews, &c., when 
such perversions are not at once discountenanced 

^ In Mother Hubbard's Tale, Spenser records his estimate 
of what he received at Court : 

" Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried, 
What hell it is in suing long to bide," &c. 



CHAP. III.] INTERPRETED. 89 

and thrust ignominiously out of the Arcadian land 
of beauty and poesy ? Perhaps we ought to say, 
indeed, that they are banished from the true Ar- 
cadia, which was by no means the English Court in 
the reign of Queen Elizabeth : and now we will 
proceed with our remarks. 

While the poet is in the spirit-land, as Sweden- 
borg says of himself when in what he calls the 
spiritual world, he is not out of himself; but he 
sees, on the contrary, from his spiritual elevation, 
the actual poets of his day, whom he briefly charac- 
terizes from line 381, calling them shepherds 

In the faithful service of fair Cynthia. 

This signifies that poets, however far short they 
come of a true sense of the art, must be considered, 
nevertheless, as aiming at the highest; and this is 
to do honor to Cynthia, the symbol of the highest, 
— very much as we must say, unless blinded by 
bigotry, that all religionists aim to honor God in 
their religious services. God is the idea, or the 
object, of the religious affection, though obscured, 
it may be, by intervening clouds of the imagina- 



90 COLIN CLOUTS [chap, in 

tion, working through that " muddy vesture of 
decay " which Shakespeare calls, in the 44th Sonnet, 
the " dull substance of the flesh." 

It is remarkable that, in Spenser's commenda- 
tions of the poets of his day, while he eulogizes 
Daniell by name, we catch no allusion to the 
greatest uninspired bard that ever appeared on 
earth, and who was then living. It is possible that, 
when Colin Clouts was written, Shakespeare had not 
made himself known as a poet. Spenser is ex- 
pressly named by Shakespeare in the 8th Sonnet of 
the Passionate Pilgrim, as having " so deep a 
conceit as passed all conceit ; " and he was undoubt- 
edly alluded to in Shakespeare's Sonnet 86, in the 
13th line of which we see a reference to the success 
of Spenser in exhibiting in his poems, perhaps in 
this very poem of Colin Clouts, what Shakespeare 
calls the " countenance " of their common love, that 
of Queen Cynthia ; for, in the land of Arcadia the 
Queen is no less a King, — as may be seen in the 
poem under examination. 

It is remarkable, also, that the high praise given 
to the work of a poet said to have had the name of 
Alabaster, does not appear to have been sufficient 



CHAP. III.] INTERPRETED. 91 

to bring the poem into light from its hiding-place 
among the MSS. of Emmanuel College, Cambridge. 

We observe next, that while the poet sees the 
veritable poets of his day, he figures by women 
the higher principles of spiritual life — the muses and 
the graces ; though not by their usual names, ex- 
cept that he begins with Urania, or heaven itself 
(Ihie 487), said to be the sister of Astrofell. And 
here the reader must consider that all spiritual 
principles, as making a perfect harmony, are of one 
accord, and are each entitled to the same honor. 
Hence, besides Urania, 

In whose brave mind, as in a golden coffer, 
All heavenly gifts and riches locked are, 
More rich than pearls of Inde, or gold of Opher, 
And in her sex more wonderful and rare, 

there are Theana and many more, to whom the 
poet says in each case " no less " honor is due. It 
is not without a purpose that, while the differences 
among the poets, their jealousies and rivalries, are 
fully recorded and brought into view (line 665), the 
women are represented as " no less praiseworthy " 
than the best; for in Arcadia they are all good 



92 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. hi. 

alike, all being equally in the service of Queen 
Cynthia, whose court is Urania, or heaven itself. 

The reference to the jealousies and rivalries of 
the poets in Arcadia must explain the reason why 
Colin left that sweet place, and came " home again." 
In the first place, the poet, when in Arcadia, as we 
have already said, is not out of himself, and lives, 
while in the body, under the laws of physical life in 
common with others whose contentions disturb the 
peace of what otherwise would be a realization of 
the poet's vision. This is what is said to have 
brought him back again to earth. 

In line 613 we fall upon the expression, "the 
cradle of her own creation," upon which the Queen 
is said to look with " high aspiring thought." What 
" creation " is this, but that of the poet himself, as a 
poet, seeing himself in Arcadia, from whence, his 
lofty dome of thought, he is supposed to look down 
upon his own bright creations ? — for the poet's 
creations have a kind of life in them, and are often 
seen in their entirety during whole years, without 
being written, and without losing a word of their 
unity. 

A genuine poet often sees his poetic creation, 
very much as a mathematician sees his problem, 



CHAP. III.] INTERPRETED. 9'-^ 

with its complete demonstration in its totality ; and 
when a poem is thus seen in the spirit-light, it is 
what a poet has called a " thing of beauty," and is 
said to be a "joy forever." 

Colin's praises of the women finally leads Ag- 
laura (line 584), to ask for a more distinct account 
of the favors bestowed upon the poet by the Queen 
herself, which brings an answer, from line 590 ; and 
this is so much beyond the conception of Cuddy that 
he thinks Colin quite beside himself. But Colin in- 
terposes, in his defence : 

True [says he], but her great excellence 
Lifts me above the measure of my might; 
That, being filled with fui'ious insolence, 
I feel myself like one yrapt in spright. 
For when I think of her, as oft I ought, 
Then want I words to speak it fitly forth : 
And when I speak of her what I have thought, 
I cannot think according to her worth. 
Yet will I think of her, yet will I speake. 
So long as Ufe my limbs doth hold together ; 
And when as death these vital bands shall breake, 
Her name recorded I will leave forever. 

This is what all, or nearly all, of the poets say, 
Daniel, Carew, Drayton, Cowley ; and above all 



94 COLIX CLOUTS [chap, hi. 

Shakespeare himself, as may be seen in numerous 
Sonnets, 18, 19, 55, 60, 63, 65, 74, 81, 100, 101, 107. 
The reader may find the same prediction of immor- 
tality in Spenser's Sonnets, 27, 09, and 75. 

Tlie poets, writing in the belief that their inspi- 
ration is from an eternal fountain, readily fall into 
the delusion that their poems will live forever, Ovid 
himself making this prediction for his own poems. 

Hence Colin, that is, Spenser, says (line 640) : 

Long while after I am dead and rotten, 
Amongst the shepherds' daughters dancing round, 
My lays made op her shall not be forgotten, 
But sung by them with flowery garlands crowned. 

The lays made of her signify the poems made 
of nature, or under the direct inspiration of nature, 
as seen in the poet's Arcadia, where there is one 
principle of truth and beauty recognized and hon- 
ored as the Queen under the name of Cynthia. 

This is the Queen whom Drayton goes in " quest 

of," amidst trees and flowers, with melodious birds 

to lead him on, until he finally discovers her, and 

finds himself accepted, when he concludes : 

« 

"By Cynthia thus do I subsist, 
On earth heaven's only pride, 



CHAP. III.] INTERPRETED. 95 

Let her be mine, and let who list 
Take all the world beside." 

This is, in truth, the burthen of Spenser's first 
Amoretti Sonnet, addressed, not to any particular 
lady, but to the Queen of Arcadia, the mystical 
object of the entire series. 

" Leaves, lines and rhymes [says he] seek her to please alone, 
Whom if ye please, I care for others none." 

Happy rhymes ! said the poet, " bathed in the 
sacred brook of Helicon, whence she derived is^^'' 
— the lady addressed being the poetic queen — 
called in Shakespeare's Sonnets the " beautiful 
mother" (Sonnet 3) of a "lovely boy" (Sonnet 
108), whose approbation alone he sought (Sonnet 
112), absolutely insensible to "critic and to flat- 
terer." 

But this sort of study is called by Colin (line 
703) the " arts of school," which are said to have, 
in the world, 

small countenance, 
and are 

counted as but toys to busy idle brains, 
lliis has resulted perhaps not so much from the 



9(5 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. hi. 

study itself, as from the meagre results manifested 
in so many, who have wasted their lives in fruitless 
eftbrts, where the Strange Shepherd has not been 
fallen in with ; or, when discovered — and this is far 
worse — has not been duly obeyed. 

The chief causes, however, of the low estim^ie 
in the world of what Spenser calls the Arts of 
School, meaning true learning, are, first, the absence 
of a taste for it ; as, in the case of music, a taste 
being wanting, all effort at learning is necessarily a 
labor without commensurate progress ; and, sec- 
ondly, arts are valued in the world chiefly for their 
material products, as instruments of gain (line 706) ; 
or, as the poet tells us (line 711), the worth of man 
is measured by his " weed," that is, by his outside. 

As harts by horns and asses by their ears. 

But the true poet, or artist, sees the value of his 
art principally in the art itself, very much as a dev- 
otee regards his faith, and prizes it far beyond any- 
thing which money can purchase, or w^hich, what 
is contemptuously called worldly dross can mea- 
sure ; while we see it intimated that true art is ac- 
cessible to its true "Lover" without money an 1 



CHAP. IIT 



,] INTEBPRETED. 97 



without price, but under the condition of acknowl- 
edging it as the gift of God. 

We must not omit to say, in this notice, that 
whereas Shakespeare, in his 20th Sonnet, has indi- 
cated the object of his love as of a double nature, 
or two natures in one, in Colin Clouts we encounter 
the same description in lines from 799, where 
the object is said to have been 

Born without sire, or couples of one kind; 

For, Yenus self ^ doth soly couples seeme, 

Both male and female through commixture joined : 

So pure and spotless Cupid forth she brought, 

And in the gardens of Adonis nurst : 

Where growing he his own perfection wrought, 

And shortly was of all the gods the first. 

This high power the poets are careful never to 
blaspheme (line 822) ; and we see this doctrine in 
Shakespeare's Sonnets 57, 58, 88, 89, 95, 96, 150, &c. 

A still more exalted character is given to the 
object by Colin (line 839), where we read : 

r 

* And this is only another name for the Arcadian Queen 
Cynthia. 

5 



98 COLIN CLOUTS [chap. in. 

Long before the world he was ybore, 
And bred above in Venus' bosom dear : 



and then, as if to leave the reader in no doubt 
as to his meaning, the poet adds : 

For by his power the world was made of yore ; 

and is not this what John says of the "Word ? — the 

same John who tells us that God is Love, a word 
^ ... 

which thence became a synonym for religion with 

a large class of mystical writers, especially poets, 
including Spenser, whose Amoretti Sonnets were not 
addressed to a lady of flesh and blood, whatever 
the critics may say to the contrary. 

At length Melissa breaks in (line 896), ex- 
claiming : 

CoUn, thou now full deeply hast divined 

Of Love and Beauty ; and with wondrous skill 

Hast Cupid self depainted in his kind. 

But enough has been said to show the purpose 
of this poem of Colin Clouts Come Home Again. 
It signifies, first, a visit by the poet to the poet's ideal 
land, the poetic Arcadia, or nature as seen in the 
spirit, or in what Swedenborg calls a celestial idea. 



CHAP. III.] INTERPRETED. 99 

to which ordinary mortals have no ready access; 
and then, secondly, by his Coming Home Again is 
to be understood his coming down to ordinary life, 
to give us a poetic description of what he saw in 
the spiritual world, using this expression meta- 
phorically ; for the eye hath not seen nor hath the 
ear heard what is said and done in the Arcadian 
Land. 



CHAPTER IV. 

REMAEKS ON THE AMORETTI, OR SONNETS OF 
SPENSER. 

Having explained the meaning and purpose of 
Colin Clouts Come Home Again, we think it neces- 
sary to express the opinion we entertain of the 
Sonnets of Spenser, which, like those of Shakes- 
peare, we regard as hermetic studies. 

We desire to confess that the field of inquiry has 
grown considerably under the view of the writer 
since he first undertook to explain the purpose of the 
small poem just named. Indeed, it has grown so 
much that he feels the necessity of using some 
violence in the effort to bring his remarks to a 
close. 

We have said that Spenser, in Colin Clouts, 
has presented, in a hermetic poem, his view of 
a Christian life — ^the life of a man led by the Spirit 



102 EEMAEKS ON [chap. iv. 

of Christ ; and that he figures the rewards of such a 
life by what he says of the " land" of Cynthia and 
its Queen. 

We feel called upon to point out what we think 
of the Amoretti Sonnets, because we regard them as 
having an intimate relation to what is set forth in 
the 23oem ; for, in the Sonnets, we recognize the con- 
templative studies of the poet on the profoundest 
problems of life, disclosed, or, if the reader chooses, 
concealed, in hermetic writing — the form of writing 
used in both Colin Clouts and the Amoretti. 

We say that the Sonnets of Spenser were not 
addressed to any particular person, but, like those of 
Shakespeare and of many of the poets in the early 
stages of English poetry, they enclose the specula- 
tive opinions of their writers upon nature and life. 

Referring to the remarks on the Sonnets of 
Shakespeare, we repeat that several of the poets of 
the earlier ages of English poesy, following prece- 
dents as old as Grecian literature (see Shakespeare's 
Sonnet 108), were essentially students of Nature, 
shrouding their inquiries and speculations, so far 
as they made them known at all, in a mystical 
style of writing, such as we now see in the Sonnets 
left us by many of the poets prior to the time of 



CHAP. IV.] THE AMOEEin. 103 

Dryden. After the Reformation had become an 
acknowledged fact, that style of writing appears, for 
the most j)art, to have been abandoned. The most 
extensive series of sonnets recently published are 
those of Wordsworth ; but there is nothing mystical 
in them. Prior to Wordsworth's time, one great 
cause of mysterious writing had been in a great 
degree removed, for men were no longer burned at 
the stake for their opinions. 

In Spenser's time, and prior to it, the Reformers, 
or those who sought to live above the superstitions 
of the time, resorted to hermetic writings ; and the 
poets, for the most part, adopted the sonnet as the 
vehicle of their opinions and speculations, Chaucer 
and some others, however, using poems in the form 
of tales and dreams. In the main, whatever special 
opinions they attained, the practice was almost 
universal of using personifications in expressing 
them ; and as Nature, in the eye of a poet, is 
anything but a mere inert mass of dead matter — 
being rather " the glorious image of the Maker's 
beauty" (Amoretti, 61) — they usually set forward, 
as the figure for their sense of the Beautiful, the 
most beautiful object in Nature ; and that is, con- 
fessedly, on all hands, a beautiful woman. 



104 REMARKS ON [chap, iv. 

As the Beautiful is seen in Nature, and as the 
most beautiful object in nature is a beautiful woman, 
many of the older poets have, we say, professed to 
have seen in woman that beauty and perfection which 
they conceived in the spirit, and have honored it with 
a devotion which they felt was due to what Spenser 
calls the first fair, which expresses an invisible 
sentiment or " idea " having no distinct or complete 
type in any one visible thing in the universe, and 
which, indeed, the poets themselves treat as irrepre- 
sentable by mere imagery ; for the eye never sees it, 
nor does the ear hear it. 

Many of the hermetic poets have given us inti- 
mations of the true object of their poetic worship ; 
but mostly in the form of poems addressed to some 
lady, in which, without doubt, there has been in 
many instances a real, visible object, though seen 
under the " heightening influence of the ideal." v 
Hence the pertinacity with which writers insist upon 
the reality of a Beatrice^ a Laura, a Fiammetta, 
&c., though they are staggered when they fall in 
with the "Lovely Boy" of Shakespeare's Sonnets, 
and waste a world of labor in efibrts to show what 
particular historical person may answer to the said 
boy ; when the very absurdity, not to say monstros- 



CHAP. IV.] THE AMORETTI. 105 

ity, immediately apparent from a literal interpreta- 
tion, ought to suggest a rule, well understood by St. 
Augustine and others, that when any one encounters 
what is visibly absurd or monstrous in a writing, 
the writing is either worthless, or should be inter- 
preted from some other than a literal ground. 

With regard to Spenser, a reasonable critic may 
consider the question as having been settled by 
and for himself in his Hymns, Avhere it is certain he 
enforces, in the strongest terms, his faith in the 
reality of the unseen Beauty, the Lady of his 
Sonnets, and the Cynthia of Colin Clouts. We 
pass over much argument on the subject, and recite 
from the Hymns : 

" How vainly then do idle wits invent 
That Beauty is nought else but mixture made 
Of colors fair, and goodly temp'rament, 
Of pure complexions, that shall quickly fade 
And pass away, like to a summer's shade ; 
Or that it is but comely composition 
Of parts well measured, with meet disposition! 



But ah ! believe me, there is more than so, 
That works such wonders in the minds of men. 



106 REMARKS ON [-^ 

For that same goodly hue of white and red, 
With which the cheeks are spi-inkled, shall decay, 
And those sweet rosy leaves, so fairly spread 
Upon the lips, shall fade and fall away 
To that they were, even to corrupted clay. 



But that fair lamp, from whose celestial ray 
That light proceeds which kindleth lovers' fire^ 
Shall never be extinguished nor decay; 
But, when the vital spirits do expire, 
Unto her native planet shall retire ; 
For it is heavenly-born, and cannot die, 
Being a parcel of the purest sky." 

This opinion is expressed in several ways in the 
Amoretti: it is intimated in the first Sonnet, 10th 
line, where the poet assigns Helicon as the birth- 
place of his Lady; it is referred to in the 15th 
Sonnet, line 13, as being what "few behold;" it is 
stated in Sonnet 55, line 10, in direct terms, &c. 

The point left for debate as to Spenser's theory 
(which, like that of Sidney and many others, is 
Platonic), is as to the initial or suggesting condition 
under which the heavenly love takes its origin ; and 
here there may be a doubt, if not settled by the 78th 
Sonnet, as to whether it must be beauty in a woman, 



OHAP. IV.] THE AMORETTI. 107 

or may be the Beautiful in some other object, or in 
some scene in nature, the evenino- or mornino- star, 
the rising or setting sun, or possibly a simple flower, 
as Wordsworth saw it in a " primrose." Whatever 
may be the suggesting cause, the idea itself is sup- 
posed to transcend time and the visible, and stands 
before the poet's mind a living reality : 

" For lovers'' eyes [says the poet] more sharply sighted be 
Than other men's, and in dear love's delight 
See more than any other eyes can see, 
Through mutual receipt of beams bright, 
Which carry privie message to the spright, 
And to their eyes that inmost fair display. 
As plain as light discovers dawning day. 

***** 
In which how many wonders do they read 
To their conceipt, that others never see ! 

^ 7^ ^ yr TV 

Then, lo triumph ! great Beauty's Queen, 
Advance the banner of thy conquest high, 
That all this world, the which thy vassals been, 
May draw to thee, and with due fealty 
Adore the power of thy great majesty, 
Singing this hymn in honor of thy name, 
Compiled by me, which thy poor Uegeman am." * 

' See Colm Clouts, line 640, &c. 



108 REMARKS ON [ 



CEAP, TV. 



In the use of the expression lover's eyes^ we may 
inquire whether the poet means the eyes of two hu- 
man lovers, male and female, or refers to lovers in 
the poetic sense, meaning those who are capable of 
receiving the sentiment (or idea) from anything in 
nature, not because of the dogma that God is, and 
may be seen, in all things, for this dogma itself rests 
on the fact that some men do thus see God (His 
Spirit or Beauty) in all things. 

The point appears to be, that Spenser, and others 
of his class, see something as the Beautiful, which 
they figure as a lady ; and then seek its smiles and 
favor in language somewhat assimilated to ordinary 
courtship, while the object itself is conceived to be 
invisible and eternal — characteristics of what is uni- 
versally admitted to be divine. 

Hermetic poets have labored under extreme diffi- 
culties in their efforts to avoid startling their readers 
by direct statements which, being liable to be mis- 
understood, are exposed to come into conflict with 
some tenet of traditional faith. Thus, what between 
the difficulty of the subject and a well-intentioned 
respect for what are felt, nevertheless, to be preju- 
dices of education, the oldest and purest faith in the 



CHAP. IV.] THE AMORETTI. 109 

world is left either to be trampled upon or to be 
resuscitated :.Tom a most artificial and figurative 
dress or presentation, by a sort of happy accident, 
which is itself held under strict bonds of secrecy by 
the solemn assertion that a discovery can only be 
made through the special gift of God. 

Nature, it is true, contains one secret by no 
means easily discovered when it has once been 
obscured; but the poets throw over that secret an 
almost impenetrable covering of words, figures, and 
symbols, making the task of discovery infinitely 
more difficult than Nature left it ; not, indeed, the 
best of the poets, whose representations are so com- 
pletely artistic, that the sense is never perverted to 
positively mischievous ends, though the reader may 
miss the true sense. 

In the poem we have had under examination 
the true sense may be missed by many ; but it is an 
offence only against taste — we mean literary taste. 
It is merely a sort of childish mistake to imagine 
that Colin Clouts was designed in any manner to 
refer to Queen Elizabeth, and does no visible injury 
in the world. 

In reading the Amoretti, we see many signs of 



110 * REMARKS ON [ 



CHAP. rv. 



their my&.tical and secret character, a ad something 
even of the cause of the poet's resort co that species 
of writing. 

In the 84th Sonnet he says : 

The world that cannot deem of worthy things, 

When I do praise her, say I do but flatter ; 

So does the cuckoo, when the mavis sings, 

Begin his witless note apace to clatter. 

But they that skill not of so heavenly matter, 

All that they know not, envy or admire ; 

Rather than envy, let them wonder at her, 

But not to deem of her desert aspire. 

Deep, in the closet of my parts entire, 

Her worth is written with a golden quill, 

That me with heavenly fury doth inspire, 

And my glad mouth with her sweet praises fill. 
Which when as Fame in her shrill trump shall thunder, 
Let the world choose to envy or to wonder. 

This particular Sonnet, it is quite true, might 
have been composed in view of some lady, whom the 
world thought excessively praised ; but the judg- 
ment to be passed upon it, and upon several special 
Sonnets, must follow a general opinion, to be draAvn 
from a consideration of the purpose of other Sonnets 
making up the entire collection, whose character 



•^^^•^^•J THE AMOEETTI. Ill 

must be determined as a whole, to which a few 
seemingly exceptional Sonnets must submit, pro- 
vided only that no positive violence be done the 
sense. 

We see, in this 84th Sonnet, that Spenser dis- 
credited the judgment of the " world " upon the 
character of the object addressed in his Sonnets ; and 
this may be considered as among the causes of his 
hermetic writing. He knew that the world would 
not appreciate his opinions on the Divine Beauty, 
which was only seen by what the poet calls (Sonnet 
87) the " contemplation of his purest part," the 
" Beauty " of his love being, as he calls it, " pure, 
immortal, high," which, as he tells us in the 1st 
Sonnet, descended upon him from Helicon, and 
which he calls his " soul's long-lacked food — his 
heaven's bliss." 

In allusions of this character, in connection with 
what we have cited from the Hymns, and in keep- 
ing with the very plain doctrine of the poem of 
Colin Clouts in honor of Queen Cynthia, we must be 
very unwilling to be convinced, or we must see 
that Spenser's Love was not a woman, except as she 
was the image of an immortal Beauty which claimed 
all of his devotion, but which was of such a nature 



112 REMARKS ON [chap. iv. 

that he knew the world in <2:(Micral would not under- 
Btaiid if lie wrote openly nboiil il ; licnco it was, as 
we SCO the pi'oblcm, that the poet decided to write 
mystioally about, his '' secret" — his secret love. The 
poet w;is ill the condition of one who feels the need 
of utleiance, and yet despairs of tindinjj^ an intelli- 
gent audience in tlie public, while he knew there 
were some individuals to whose secret soul his love- 
sonnets would be acceptable in their real sense. 
The poet was in tliis state when he wrote the 4;)d 
Sonnet, which discloses \\'\i\ purpose of writing in 
secret, that is, in hermetic symbolism, which should 
be ()])scure to the world in general, but would be 
understood by those who belonged to the class called 
lovers, as in Shakespeare's 55th Sonnet — meaning 
lovers of the Divine Beauty, figured by so many 
poets as a lady, though seen also in man. 
We recite here the 43d Sonnet : 

Shall I tluMi silent he, or shall I speak ? 
And, if I speak, her wrath renew I shall ; 
And, if 1 silent be, my heart will break, 
Or choked be with overHovvin<^ gall. 

Here we see the wish oi' tiie poet to relieve his 
soul by o\])ression, and yet clearly see the struggle 



en AT 



.IV.] THE AMORETTI. 113 



or conflict growing out of the natural desire for 
relief, and the apprehension of contests with the 
world, which the poet figures as the wrath of his 
lady ; for we are now, in tliis very Sonnet, in the 
midst of hermetic writing. The wrath of the lady 
is a mere figure for the apprehended wrath of the 
world in case he should undertake to write openly 
about what he knew the world, in his day, would 
not appreciate. 
He proceeds : 

What tyranny is this, both my heart to thrall, 
And eke my tongue with proud restraint to tie ; 
That neither I may speak nor think at all. 
But like a stupid stock in silence die ! 

But now we come to the resolve of the poet : 

Yet I my heart with silence secretly 

Will teach to speak, and my just cause to plead ; 

And eke mine eyes, with meek humility. 

Love-learned letters to her eyes to read ; 

Which her deep wit, that true heart's thought can spell, 
Will soon conceive, and learn to construe well. 

In this Sonnet we see distinctly the purpose of 
the poet to write amoretti, or love^sonnets, which he 



114 REMARKS ON [ 



CHAP. IV. 



calls love-learned letters, and which he expected 
would be understood by a certain class of apirituelle 
friends, who would have what are called by many 
of the poets lover's eyes, or eyes which look beyond 
the letter to what St. Paul calls the spirit. 

A curious reader may ask why Spenser and others 
resorted to this mode of writing, properly called her- 
metic; and, if there was reason for secrecy in his 
day, why any attempt should now be made to raise 
the veil. If an answer to the first part of the ques- 
tion is not seen in the 43d Sonnet, in the allusion to 
the " wrath " of the lady, let the reader consider the 
state of the times prior to and during the progress of 
the Reformation, and he must soon understand that, 
while some were willing, as martyrs, to encounter 
the intolerance of the times, there must have been 
others who, and for many reasons which might be 
named, would easily fall into some understood forms 
of expression, by which they could communicate with 
each other and yet leave the woman undisturbed ; 
for the woman was the public, having a visible and 
an invisible side, exactly in harmony with the doc- 
trine which gave two sides to Nature, a visible and 
an invisible side ; on the one side of which the 
lovers saw their mistress as " cruel " and as " treach- 



CHAP. IV.] THE AMORETTI. 115 

erous," &c., while, as seen within, the same mistress 
was known to be true and perfect. 

With respect to raising the veil, it is sufficient to 
say that the cause of the secrecy being no longer in 
force, it is, to say the least, an interesting question 
to discover, if we can, what the ingenious men of the 
age thought, and see also, if we can, how they ex- 
pressed themselves on the great problems of life. 

Although the author of these remarks has every 
confidence in the correctness of his explanations, he 
would be among the last to claim infallibility. He 
is absolutely convinced, perhaps on theoretic grounds 
(it may be thought), that, in the very nature of 
things, there must be a positive ground of reference 
by which mystic writings may be interpreted ; but 
whilst this is admitted, it is conceded, at the same 
time, that a knowledge of that ground may be what 
some writers, speaking in a philosophical sense, call 
inadequate. Adequate knowledge, as distinguished 
from the inadequate, is that of the reason as distin- 
guished from that of the senses. Genuine hermetic 
writers trace adequate knowledge to Reason, as 
being absolute. 

It is only in virtue that there is something abso- 



116 REMARKS OX THE AMORETTI. [chap. iv. 

lute— that anything whatever can be conceived as 
absolutely true ; from which it comes that the true 
and the absolute must be seen together : and criti- 
cism itself, even in its subordinate character, is only 
possible on the assumption of the true ; that is, the 
assumption of there being what may be called abso- 
lute truth. 

All men are instinctively agreed upon the prin- 
ciple, that there is such truth : they only differ as 
to what it is, and where to seek for it. 

Certainly, one principle should be admitted by all 
seekers ; to wit, that Truth cannot be contrary to 
itself: and as the evidence of truth must itself have 
the nature of truth to be valid, it must follow that 
truth and its evidence will be found self-supporting. 

We feel justified in saying that, if the author is 
in error in his explanation of Colin Clouts and the 
Sonnets of Spenser, he can only be shown to be so 
by an appeal to truth in a higher sense than he un- 
derstands it ; and in that case he has but this to 
say — that he is ready to accept that higher sense 
from any one who will assist him to it. 



CHAPTER V. 

The most direct method of making our opinion of 
the Amoretti Sonnets acceptable would be to name 
and define the object addressed, so as to hold it dis- 
tinctly before the imagination of the reader. But 
this is not possible, because the real object, though 
visible in some sense, as the world itself is visi- 
ble, is nevertheless invisible in fact, as is what is 
called the spirit of the world ; or if we substitute the 
word Nature for the world, as just used, we shall 
express the same thing* In the main, we say that 
the hermetic poets were students of nature and wor- 
shippers of its spirit, the object being, to the imagi- 
nation, double, and thence called in the Shakespeare 
Sonnets (the 20th) the master-mistress of the poet's 
passion, or Love ; as it is also described, as we have 
pointed out, in Colin Clouts. The reader must read- 
ily see that the idea of the object, however conceived 
as a unity in one sense, must be complex before the 



118 REMARKS ON [chap. v. 

imfigination ; and in general we may say it is figured 
as One, as Two, and as Three. This will easily be 
seen in the Sonnets, and we may as well point out 
some evidences at once. For this purpose we refer 
to the 13th Sonnet, where the Lady, the mystical 
object written about, is represented as having her 
face elevated to the sky, while her eye-lids are said 
to be on the ground. Who cannot see that this 
constrained position is unreal, and expresses simply 
the upper and the lower, or spirit and matter, as two 
of the three principles of the unity ? But a third 
principle is represented as a " goodly temperature," 
or in other words, the medium or " midst " principle 
of the Trinity. Thus : 

13. In that proud port [or bearing], which Tier so goodly 
graceth, 
Whiles her fair face she rears up to the sky, 
And to the ground her eye-lids low embaseth, 
Most goodly temperature ye may descry ; &c. 

Nothing is more common than to speak of what 
is called the bosom of nature ; and the 77th Sonnet, 
besides others, will show how this is referred to the 
mystic Lady. 

77. Was it a dream, or did I see it plain ; 
A. goodly table of pure ivory, 



CHAP, v.] THE AMORETTI. 1 ] 9 

All spread with jimcats, fit to entertain 
The greatest prince with pompous royalty : 
Mongst which, there in a silver dish did lie 
Two — [here we have a figure for two principles of the 
Trinity, in themselves pure] — 

Two golden apples of unvalued price ; 

* * * * 

Exceeding sweet, yet void of sinful vice. 

* * * * 

Her breast — [that is, the bosom of Nature, figured 

as a Lady] — 
Her breast that table was, so richly spread ; 
My thoughts the guests, which would thereon have fed. 

In the Sonnet preceding this the bosom of Nature 
is also addressed, as the fair bosom of the mystical 
Lady. 

76. Fair bosom ! fraught with virtue's richest treasure, 
The nest of love, the lodging of delight. 
The bower of bliss, the paradise of pleasure, 
The sacred harbor of that heavenly spright ; 
How was I ravished with your lovely sight, 
And my frail thoughts too rashly led astray! 
Whiles diving deep through amorous insight. 
On the sweet spoil of beauty they did prey; 
And twixt her paps, (like early fruit in May, 
Whose harvest seemed to hasten now apace,) 
They loosely did their wanton wings display. 



120 REMARKS ON [ 



CHAP. V. 



\nd there to rest themselves did boldly place. 
Sweet thoughts ! I envy your so happy rest, 
Which oft I wished, yet never was so blessed. 

Plainly, in this Sonnet, the poet is imagining a 
rest in the bosom of Nature, to which the Sonnets 
show he had not attained, but was still seeking ; and 
though in the 63d Sonnet the poet lets us see that he 
had reached something like a glimpse of the true rest, 
which he calls " eternal bliss," or eternal life — for 
this is what he meant — he did not enjoy the fruition 
of it beyond other mortals in the flesh, as Ave plainly 
see by the closing Sonnet, the 88th, in which he com- 
pares himself to a turtle-dove, mourning its fate, &c. 

The reader may see a further reference to Nature 
in the 64th Sonnet, where the most sensuous personi- 
fications are used, as they are in the Canticles, which, 
in the opinion of the writer of these remarks, was 
addressed to the same object. 

The entire absence from the poet's mind of any 
actually sensuous ideas is sufficiently clear from the 
83d Sonnet : 

83. Let not one spark of filthy lustful fire 

Break out, that may her sacred peace molest ; 
No one light glance of sensual desire 
Attempt to work her gentle mind's unrest : 



CHAP, v.] THE AMORETTI. 121 

But pure affections bred in spotless breast, 

And modest thoughts breathed from well-tempered 

spirits, 
Go visit her, in her chaste bower of rest, &c. 

The " sacred peace " and the rest here intended 
is that of Nature in what has been well called her 
" animated repose ;" and however beautiful as ap- 
plied to lovely woman, it was here addressed to Na- 
ture, the object of the poet's study. 

There is quite a class of sonnets in which Lady 
Nature is figured in her double character as visible 
and invisible, and the poet bids us beware of the 
visible, meaning simply what are called the deceits 
and treacheries of the world. 

In some cases the visible beauty of the world is 
intended, as in the 55th Sonnet : 

So oft as I her beauty do behold — 

meaning simply the beauty of Nature — 

And therewith do her cruelty compare^- 

that is, so oft as the poet compares the treacheries 
of the world, its delusive hopes and severe trials, to 
the promises of life — 

I marvel [says he] of what substance was the mould, 
The which her made at once so cruel fair, &c. 
6 



122 REMARKS ON [chap. v. 

Cruel Fair is a common expression for the Lady, 
meaning that Nature is exceedingly deceptive to the 
natural eye, and by no means allows its devotee 
through that channel to reach or understand her 
true beauties or glories. Thus, in the 53d Sonnet, 
the Lady is compared to a panther, with a de- 
ceivingly beautiful spotted hide, or outside : 

53. The panther, knowing that his spotted hide 

Doth please all beasts, but that his looks them fray, 

[or frighten,] 
Within a bush his dreadful head doth hide, 
To let them gaze, whilst he on them may prey: 
Right so my cruel fair with me doth play ; 
For, with the goodly semblance of her hue, 
She doth allure me to mine own decay, 
And then no mercy will unto me show. 

Can any one suppose that this Sonnet was ad- 
dressed by a reasonable lover to a lady sought in 
honorable marriage ? Certainly not. The panther 
figures the Lady, and the Lady figures Nature, the 
object of the poet's studies. 

The SVth Sonnet gives us the very same doctrine 
under other figures : 

37. What guile is this, that those her golden tresses 
She doth attire under a net of gold ; 



CHAP, v.] THE AMORETTI. 123 

And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses, 

That which is gold or hair may scarce be told? 

Is it that men's frail eyes, [or intellects,] which gaze too 

bold, 
She may entangle in that golden snare; 
And, being caught, may craftily enfold 
Their weaker hearts, which are not well aware ? 
Take heed therefore, mine eyes, how ye do stare 
Henceforth too rashly on that guileful net, 
In which if ever ye entrapped are, 
Out of her bands ye by no means shall get, 
Fondness it were for any, being free, 
To covet fetters though they golden be. 

This is ODly throwing into verse the trite maxim, 
that all is not gold that glitters ; though we may 
explain further that the poet is, in the largest sense, 
giving a caution against the deceits of the world, by 
which so many lose their hopes of glory in a religious 
sense ; for these entire studies tend to the exaltation 
of the spirit over matter, or nature, as visible, Avhile 
yet the doctrine was that, essentially, the two are one, 
or in harmony, and that man should seek his blessing, 
not by doing violence to nature, but by living in 
harmony with its eternal laws. 

Another caution against the treachery of the vis- 
ible may be seen in the 47th Sonnet : 



124 REMARKS ON [chap. v. 

47. Trust not the treason of those smiling looks, ♦ 

Until ye have their guileful trains well tried : 
For they are like but unto golden hooks, 
That from the foolish fish their bates do hide ; 
So she with flattering smiles — 

These are the seductive and cheating smiles of what, 
in popular discourse, is called the corrupt world — 

So she with flattering smiles weak hearts doth guide — 

Would this language be acceptable to any lady, de- 
serving the name, or calculated to propitiate her 
grace in behalf of a lover ? — 

So she with flattering smiles weak hearts doth guide 
Unto her love, and tempt to their decay ; 
Whom, being caught, she kills with cruel pride. 
And feeds at pleasure on the wretched prey. 

Nothing can be more absurd than to suppose 
that this Sonnet was addressed to a lady of flesh 
and blood. It was addressed to Lady Nature ; and 
is followed, in the Sonnet, by the declaration of a 
beautiful philosophy, by which we may see that the 
poet understood the doctrine, which teaches the 
beautifying influences of that perfect submission to 
the law of nature, by which evils are transformed 
into benefits, and even death into life. 



CHAP, v.] THE AMOKETTI. 125 

mighty charm ! [exclaims the poet,] which makes men love 

their bane, 
And think they die with pleasure, live with pain. 

The 81st Sonnet may present some difficulties 
to a student unpractised in hermetic writings, but, 
like all the rest of the Sonnets, it must be read 
under a sense of the author's habitual personifica- 
tions of Nature ; by which IS'ature, as a whole, 
is seen in all its parts, and is thus recognized as the 
Lady with golden hair, red cheeks, eyes of fire, and 
richly-laden breast or bosom, as we have already 
seen ; but, above all, she is astonishingly marvellous 
in what Plutarch calls, in the Essay on Isis and 
Osiris, her Discourse, or, in other words, in the 
power of speech. Nothing but habit makes us 
familiar with the wonders of nature and the spirit, 
and particularly with that wonderful faculty by 
which man is distinguished from all other animals, 
the faculty of speech; and it is not strange that 
what is technically called the Word should be 
regarded as Divine. 

A religious sentiment is strongly expressed in 
the 61st Sonnet— a sentiment which may be seen in 
all of this class of poets, from Chaucer down. 
61. The glorious iiiiage of the Maker's beauty-—' 



126 REMARKS ON [chap. v. 

Here the poet addresses the world as the image 
of God. Do not those who profess to despise 
it, dishonor the Maker ? The poets do not so ; 
although, as we have seen, they figure its visible as 
a terrible panther, whose spotted hide is to be 
guarded against — 

The glorious image of the Maker's beauty, 
My sovereign saint, the idol of my thought. 
Dare not henceforth, above the bounds of duty, 
T' accuse of pride, or rashly blame for aught. 
For being, as she is, divinely wrought. 
And of the brood of Angels heavenly born ; 
And with the crew of blessed saints upbrought. 
Each of which did her with their gifts adorn ; 
The bud of joy, the blossom of the morn, 
The beam of light, whom mortal eyes admire; 
What reason is it then but she should scorn 
Base things, that to her love too bold aspire ! 
Such heavenly forms ought rather worshipped be, 
Than dare be lov'd by men of mean degree. 

The nearest expression of the theory of both 
Shakespeare and Spenser, so far as mere words 
can draw attention to it, as exhibited in the Son- 
nets, seems to be this: they each conceive a cer- 
tain trinity, of which the three elements, so to 
say (admitting, however, that a mere written 



CHAP, v.] THE AMORETTI. 127 

creed is without life), are, first, the higher spirit, 
which is invisible ; next, that which is visible, or 
can be known through the senses, and which is com- 
monly called nature ; and, lastly, man, as the micro- 
cosm, expressing the double being of spirit and 
matter, the latter represented in the body, the 
former in the soul. 

By reading the 20th, 36th, 39th, 44th, and 74th 
of the Shakespeare Sonnets, the theory becomes 
tolerably clear. 

We see a similar doctrine or theory in the 
Spenser Sonnets, particularly in the 45th Sonnet; 
to understand which we must see that the hio-her 
spirit is figured in what is called, in the Sonnet, the 
" glass of crystal clear." 

The Lady we must regard as nature personified ; 
•and now we see that the poet addresses Nature : 

Leave, Lady ! in your glass of crystal clean, 
Your goodly self for evermore to view: 
And in myself, ray inward self, I mean, 
Most lively like behold your semblant true. 
Within my heart, though hardly it can show 
Thing so divine to view of earthly eye. 
The fair idea of your celestial hue 
And every part remains immortally — 



128 REMARKS ON [chap. v. 

That is, the poet recognizes the eternal idea, or 
the idea of the eternal, in his own heart, which 
corresponds to the over-soul figured by the clean 
crystal glass ; and nature, the personified object 
addressed, though here the microcosm is intended, 
is urged, as it were, to turn from contemplating 
herself in the over-soul, and see herself in the poet's 
soul, where the " celestial idea " remains immortally, 
and where the Lady might see herself, no less clearly 
than in the over-soul; but for a certain obstacL', 
called in Shakespeare's 44th Sonnet the " dull sub- 
stance of the flesh" — which makes what is called 
the " separable spite " of the 36th Sonnet and " the 
addition" of the 20th Sonnet. The Sonnet con- 
tinues : 

And were it not that, through your cruelty, 
With sorrow dimmed and deform'd it were, 
The goodly image of your visnomy, 
Clearer than crystal, would therein appear. 

Here the poet refers to the work of Nature 
in him, as he considers, by which his spirit has been 
" dimmed and deform'd," as he calls it ; and this, in 
his view, has operated to make what Shakespeare 
calls the " separable spite " in the 36th Sonnet, re- 



CH/p. v.] THE AMOKETTI. 129 

ferring to the same dull substance of the flesh, 
meaning the nature-side of life. 

And now, Spenser, as if he imputed this " sepa- 
rable spite " to his Lady, the personified nature, and 
not to tlie spirit, says : 

But if yourself in me ye plain will see, 

Remove the cause by which your fair beams darkened be. 

That is, as Shakespeare might have said. Remove 
the dull substance of the flesh (Sonnet 44) which 
separates the inner spirit from the over-soul, when, 

" despite of space I would be brought, 
From Umits far remote where thou dost stay." 

The principal difference in the view of the 
two poets lies in this : that Shakespeare studied to 
regard or understand Nature from the spirit-side, 
which he figured as a Lovely Boy or Sweet Boy, 
for he uses both expressions ; while Spenser, in his 
contemplation of Nature, had regard more partic- 
ularly to what is often called the feminine side of 
life, and personifies it as a Lady : or, we may say 
that Shakespeare, though admirably harmonized, as 
we all know, in both the intellect and the aff*ections, 
was less under the influence of the affections than 
6* 



130 REMAEKS ON [chaf. v. 

Spenser, who regarded nature principally through 
the affectional or feminine side of life. But both 
of the poets saw the woman in nature. 

To appreciate the 88th Sonnet of the Amoretti, 
and other similar sonnets, the student must en- 
deavor to enter into the feelings of the poet, not 
upon seeing a beautiful woman, as charming as such 
a vision is, but he should realize, if possible, a sense 
of Beauty in Nature — such as woman herself recog- 
nizes independently of man. A perfect man may 
indeed be the highest image of it to woman, as a 
perfect woman is that image to man. 

This invisibly visible Beauty in N^ature, called, 
by some, the present-absent^ is that which fascinates 
so many poets — to be deprived of a sense of which 
creates so deep a feeling of loss, that it can be assim- 
ilated to nothing so well as winter as compared 
to summer — some of the poets going so far as to 
invoke death as a relief from the dreadful vacancy 
of the soul when not illumined by the Spirit of 
Beauty ; for then the poet feels there is nothing in 
this wide world worth living for. 

Thus, Shakespeare says, Sonnet 98, referring to 
this very privation, which he calls his absence from 
the object of his love : 



CHAP, v.] THE AMORETTI. 131 

"From you have I been absent in the spring, 
When proud-pied April, dress' d in all his trim, 
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, 
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. 
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 
Of different flowers in odour and in hue, 
Could make me any summer's story tell. 
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: 
Nor did I wonder at the hUes white. 
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; 
They were but sweet, but figures of delight, 
Drawn after you, — you pattern of all those. 
Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away. 
As with your shadow I with these did play." 

In this Sonnet the visible beauties of nature are 
treated as but the shadows of the Spirit of Beauty, 
whose absence from the poet's soul turns April into 
December, as expressed in the 97th Sonnet also. 

With some opinion like this let the 78th Sonnet 
of the Amoretti be read : 

78. Lacking my love — 

that is, lacking the sense of the beauty of which 
we speak — 

I go from place to place, 
Like a young fawn, that late hath lost the hind ; 



132 EEMARKS ON [chap. v. 

And seek each where, where last I saw her face, 
Whose image yet I carry fresh in mind. 

This " image " is the poet's sense of the Beauti- 
ful, which he had realized in nature, whose impres- 
sions, being no stronger than a " flower " (Shakes- 
peare's Sonnet 65), cannot hold permanent posses- 
sion of the man in the midst of the million sensuous 
influences constantly tending to distract him, and 
drive the ideal into nonentity — nonentity with re- 
spect to the man himself, though not with respect 
to nature ; for in nature it is permanent, as beauty 
is said to be, under the figure of a lady, in Shelley's 
Sensitive Plant. 

I seek the fields — 

continues Spenser — 

with her late footing signed. 

Here the poet uses the poet's license. Having 
personified the object, he assumes the imprint or 
impression of her foot, as, in the 1st Sonnet, he 
talks of lily hands where there are no hands to be 
seen; 

I seek the fields with her late footing signed ; 
I seek her bower with her late presence decked ; 



CHAP, v.] THE AMOEETTI. 133 

Yet nor in field nor bower I can her find ; 
Yet field and bower are full of her aspect : 
But when mine eyes I thereunto direct, 
They idly back return to me again : 
And when I hope to see their true object, 
I find myself but fed with fancies vain. 

Cease then, mine eyes, to seek herself to see ; 

And let my thoughts behold herself in me. 

The writer has no need to be told how a young 
and devoted lover comforts his heart and imagination 
by seeking the object of his affections in her private 
walks, feasting his eyes, it may be, upon a flower her 
lily hands may have touched, &c., &c. ; but he insists 
that this is more becoming a young man in the bloom 
of life and love, than to a youth of " forty," the sup- 
posed age of Spenser when the Sonnets were written ; 
and he is sure that the beautiful realities of twenty 
naturally become, at forty, symbols for illustrating 
a sense of the permanent in spirit, of which the ten- 
der experiences are but the evanescent expressions 
or indications. 

These experiences of life, however real to the 
sensuous nature of man, are but signs of a higher 
spirit, a higher nature, properly belonging to the 
island of which Cynthia is the queen, w^hose very 



134 REMARKS ON [chap. v. 

reality may be doubted, indeed, by the sensuous 
man ; but to the poet the ideal becomes the true 
real, in which the sensuous life is not lost, but 
becomes transformed, or transfigured, as we may 

say. 

The 46th Sonnet requires special notice. It 
reads : 

46. When my abode's prefixed time is spent, 

My cruel fair straight bids me wend my way : 
But then from heaven most hideous storms are sent, 
As wilUng me against her will to stay. 
Whom then shall I, or heaven or her, obey? 
The heavens know best what is the best for me : 
But as she will, whose will my hfe doth sway, 
My lower heaven, so it perforce must be. 
But ye high heavens, that all this sorrow see, 
Sith all your tempests cannot hold me back, 
Assuage your storms ; or else both you, and she, 
Will both together me too sorely wrack. 
Enough it is for one man to sustain 
The storms which she alone on me doth rain. 

The argument or subject of this 46th Sonnet is 
substantially this : 

When the poet shall have lived out the ap- 
pointed period in this life, his " lower heaven," 



/> 



CHAP. V-] THE AMORETTI. 135 

he figures his cruel fair, or personified Nature, 
as commanding him to go his " way " out of the 
world : but this command his soul is unwilling 
to obey, and is represented as opposing the com- 
mand, and as crying out against it, in Avhat the 
poet calls " hideous storms " (or passionate out- 
cries). In plain words, the man shrinks from death. 

Here is seen an opposition between the law of 
nature (the lady) and the man's individual feelings 
or wishes, and the man asks which he shall " obey." 
He admits that the higher spirit knows what is best 
for him ; but sees clearly — and this must settle the 
point — that the question of death is entirely in the 
hands of Nature, that is, of the lady, his " cruel 
fair," from which there is no appeal. 

The poet then calls upon " high heavens " to in- 
terpose so far, since there is no pow.er to hold him 
hack^ that the " storms " of his opposition to the 
behest of nature may be "assuaged," lest, as he 
says, that both of them, the spirit and the lady, 
by bearing too heavily upon him, should make a 
" wreck " of him ; pleading that 

Enough it is for one man to sustain 
The storms which she — 



136 REMARKS ON [chap. ^. 

his lady, nature — 

should on him rain. 

In this, as in nearly all of the Amoretti Sonnets, 
nature is the lady, which, while she endowed the 
poet with all of his great " riches " or gifts, was at 
the same time regarded as the chief source of his 
cruel sorrows, and finally of his death ; which was to 
proceed from an inexorable command or law against 
which " high heaven " had not restraining power. 

That the reader may see the connection of the 
Amoretti with Colin Clouts, we cite here the 9th 
Sonnet : 

Long-while I sought to what I might compare 
Those powerful eyes, which lighten my dark spright: 
Yet find I nought on earth to which I dare 
Resemble th' image of their goodly light : 
Not to the sun ; for they do shine by night ; 
Nor to the moon ; for they are changed never ; 
Nor to the stars ; for they have purer sight ; 
Nor to the fire ; for they consume not ever ; 
Nor to the lightning ; for they still persever ; 
Nor to the diamond ; for they are more tender ; 
Nor unto crystal ; for nought may them sever ; 
Nor unto glass; such baseness might offend her. 
Then to the Maker's self they likest be, 
Whose Ught doth lighten all that here we see. 



CHAP, v.] THE AMORETTI. 137 

A parallel to this Sonnet of Spenser's may be 
seen in Shakespeare's 18th Sonnet : 

" Shall 1 compare thee to a summer's day? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate : 
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
And summer's lease hath all too short a date : 
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; 
And every fair from fair sometime declines, 
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd ; 
But thy eternal summer shall not fade, 
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; 
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade, 
When in eternal lines to time thou growest : 
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, 
So long Hves this, and this gives life to thee." 

As a parallel, again, for Shakespeare's Sonnets, 
to this promise of eternity secured by poetic labors, 
we cite Spenser's 69th Sonnet : 

The famous warriors of the antique world 
Us'd trophies to erect in stately wise; 
In which they would the records have enroll'd 
Of their great deeds and valorous emprise. 
What trophy then shall I most fit devise, 
In which I raav record the mernorv 



138 REMARKS ON [ 



OHAP. V. 



Of my love's conquest, peerless beauty's prize, 
Adorn' d with honor, love, and chastity ! 
Even this verse, vowed to eternity, 
Shall be thereof immortal monument ; 
And tell her praise to all posterity. 
That may admire such world's rare wonderment ; 
The happy purchase of my glorious spoil, 
Gotten at last with labor and long toil. 

The two poets loved the same lady, but without 
envy or rivalry. 

By looking at the Sonnets from this point of 
view, we must soon understand that, in studying 
them, we have the most immediate access to the 
poet's actual thoughts of nature and the spirit ; and 
in the study itself, in the cases of both Shakespeare 
and Spenser, and of some of the other poets, we are, 
as it were, holding converse with their spirits ; while, 
on the other hand, to suppose these Sonnets ad- 
dressed to any mere person, is not only to lose the 
truth they suggest, but, in most cases, we must see 
both the writers and the parties supposed to be 
addressed, in a very absurd and ridiculous point 
of view. 



CHAPTER VL 



DKATTON. 



[A few brief remarks on Drayton and Sidney, for these writers belong 
very clearly to tbe mystic school in some of their writings.] 



To show the metaphysical character of Drayton's 
studies, we cite the following Sonnet, explaining our 
understanding of it as we proceed. We must sup- 
pose the poet is contemplatively regarding himself 
under the idea of the all-embracing unity, a sense of 
which is seen to enclose the poet's individuality in 
that of the whole ; and thus, he sees himself in and 
out of God ; and God as in and out of himself He 
is one and yet not one ; two, yet but one — the mys- 
tery of which oppresses him : 

You not alone, when you are still alone, 
God, from You that I could private be, 
Since You one were, I never since was one. 

As if he had said, Since I recognized the doctrine of 



140 DEAYTON. [chap. vi. 

the unity, I have not realized my own individuality 
— if You are All, I am nothing, &c. 

Since You in me, myself since out of me, 
Transported from myself into your Being. 

That is, since I conceived the doctrine which affirms 
that your life is in man or in me, I seem transported 
oat of myself. 

Though either distant, present yet to either. 
Senseless with too much joy, each other seeing, 
And only absent when we are together. 

Here the poet seems to have been so much op- 
pressed with his sense of this mystical presence, ye^- 
absence, of that which in some sort is both present 
and absent, that he cries out — 

Give me myself, and take yourself again ; 
Devise some means but how I may forsake You. 
So much is mine that doth with You remain, 
That taking what is mine, with Me I take You ; 
You do bewitch me ; that I could fly 
From myself, You, or from Yourself, I. 

In this Sonnet we see a sort of Jacob's wrestling, 
not with God, indeed, as represented in Scripture, 
but with God's work, the Image of his Beauty. 



CHAP. VI.] DRAYTON. 141 

Shakespeare's Sonnets, 135 and 136, supposed to 
be a mere play upon his name, are founded on the 
same difficulty, that of conceiving the unity in the 
duality. 

Then we see the poet addressing a Sonnet to the 
" Soul," full of Aristotle's philosophy, and another to 
what he calls the " Shadow " — the visible world being 
regarded as the shadow of the invisible soul. 

The concluding Sonnet of the "Ideas" very well 
exhibits the character or condition of the poet, lost as 
he was in his sense of the Unity, having complete 
faith in it, while yet it never reached a positive real- 
ization ; since that, according to his own theory, 
would have annihilated himself — a result which, 
however, would have been acceptable, because of his 
faith ; for he quite plainly tells us of the surrender 
of his hearty while at the same time we easily per- 
ceive that his intellect was not convinced — this sur- 
render of the heart reminding us of Shakespeare's 
133d Sonnet. 

Drayton's last Sonnet reads : 

Truce, gentle Love, a parley now I crave ; 
Methinks 'tis long since first these wars begun. 

That is, the poet had long been engaged in his met- 



142 DEAYTOy. [chap. vi. 

aphysical studies into nature, addressed as his gentle 
Love. 

Nor thou, [says he,] nor I, the better yet can have: 
Bad is the match where neither party won. 
I offer the conditions of fair peace, 
My heart for hostage that it shall remain ; 
Discharge our forces, here let malice cease, 
So for my pledge thou give me pledge again : 
Or if nothing but death will serve thy turn, 
StiU thirsting for subversion of my state ; 
Do what thou canst ; rase, massacre, and bum, 
Let the world see the utmost of thy hate : 
I send defiance ; since, if overthrown, 
Thou vanquishing^ tJie conquest is mine own. 

Why was the conquest his own ? Because, in his 
theory, he had so conceived the Unity that whatever 
might happen to him belonged to the Whole, of 
which he was an inseparable part, sharing in the 
whole. 

This sense of the supreme claims of Sovereign 
Beauty over all human considerations, is conspicuous 
in the Shakespeare Sonnets, in which the poet, like 
Drayton, to use an Eastern expression, so acknowl- 
edges his absorption in the whole, that no loss what- 
ever can be visited uj^on him in the inferior state, but 



OHAr. VI 



,] DRAYTON. 143 



what he is sure to reap the benefit of in the superior 
life, which Drayton, like Shakespeare, calls his " better 
pai-t," regarding it evidently as his proper life. 
(Compare Drayton's 44th with Shakespeare's 39th 
and 74th Sonnets.) 

In the 88th Sonnet, Shakespeare, not merely car- 
rying out to the very extreme the doctrine of 
Chaucer, to think no ill of his Mistress, and to excuse 
" quickly " whatever may seem wrong, goes even 
beyond Chaucer, and ofiers, when aggrieved himself, 
to take part and " fight " against himself : 

88. " Upon thy part [says he] I can set down a story 
Of faults concealed, wherein I am attainted ; 
That thou, in losing me, shalt win much glory: 
And I by this will be a gainer too ; 
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, 
The injuries that to myself I do, 
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. 
Such is my love, to thee I so belong, 
That for thy right myself will bear all wrong." 

The poet, in this mystical mode of writing, is, 
in reality, enforcing the Scripture doctrine of suf- 
fering for Christ's sake. 

The expression, " for thy right " — fighting, or 
suffering for thy right — signifies for thy saJce^ and 



144 DRAYTOX. [chap. vi. 

this involves the principle of suffering for Christ's 
sake ; for we must recollect that the true Lady in the 
case is often pictured as holding tlie eternal scales 
for distributing even-handed justice — and this is a 
principal office of the Eternal Son. 

Christ historically suffered martyrdom ; but spir- 
itually he is righteousness, and lives forever ; and to 
fight or suffer for right, or righteousness, is therefore 
to fight or suffer for Christ's sake. 

The same principle is expressed, in a varied form, 

in Shakespeare's 80th Sonnet, where the poet says : 

» 

" If I be cast away — 

that is, if I be lost in this service of the Beautiful, 
which is but another name for the Good and the True, 
— the fair, kind, and true being the eternal Trinity, 
according to the 105th Sonnet — 

" The worst was this [says the poet], my Love was my 
decay." 

And to die in the service of Love was regarded as a 
religious sacrifice — a loss to the loser's glory. 

This again is similar to the conclusion of Dray- 
ton's 42d Sonnet : 



CHAP. VI. J DEAYTON. 145 

I care not I, how men aflfected be — 

i. e., by what he writes — meaning to write in honor 
of the Highest — 

I care not I, how men affected be, 

Nor who commends nor discommends my verse ; 

It pleaseth me, if I my woes rehearse. 

And in my lines if she my love may see : 

Only my comfort stUl consists in this, 

Writing Her praise I cannot write amiss. 

This again is paralleled in Shakespeare's 112tb 
Sonnet : 

" What care I who calls me well or ill, 
So you o'ergreen my bad, my good allow ? 
You are my all- the- world, and I must strive 
To know my shames and praises from your tongue; 
None else to me, nor I to none alive, 
That my steel'd sense or changes, right or wrong." 

Here the object is personified as usual, even as if 
its voice could be audibly heard ; but it can only be 
heard, as in Scripture the conscience is said to be 
heard — as the still small voice. 

As a further evidence of the metaphysical char- 



146 DRAYTON. [chap. VI. 

acter of Drayton's Sonnets, we cite the 18th, ad- 
dressed 

TO THE CELESTIAL NUMBERS. 

To this our world, to learning, and to Heaven, 
Three nines there are, to every one a nine, 
One number of the Earth, the other both Divine, 
One woman now makes three odd numbers even. 
Nine orders first of angels be in Heaven, 
Nine Muses do with learning still frequent, 
These with the Gods are ever resident. 
Nine worthy women to the world were given : 
My worthy one to these nine worthies addeth, 
And my fair Muse, one Muse to the nine, 
And my good angel (in my soul divine) 
With one more order these nine orders gladdeth : 
My Muse, my Worthy, and my Angel then. 
Makes every one of these three nines a Ten." 

The readers of Dante's Vtta JVuova may see how 
the poet repeatedly and mystically comments upon 
the number nine, in connection with the mystic Lady 
Beatrice, and may not find it difiicult to see the two 
poets in. reality contemplating the same mystery 
under the number nine. But Spenser is among the 
number of the poets who held to some similar mys- 
tery, as may be seen in his 74th Sonnet, from which 



CHAP. VI.] DRAYTON. 147 

the critics have inferred a name for his lady-love, 
although, in fact, the three Elizabeths (in that Son- 
net) stand related to their respective spirits^ as the 
Elizabeth of the Gospel is related to Mary. 
The Sonnet reads : 

Most happy letters ! fram'd by skilful trade — 

that is, most happy Sonnets ; for the poet is here re- 
ferring to his own Sonnets, called " happy leaves " in 
the first Sonnet ; said to be framed by a skilful poet, 
and called " love-learned letters" in the 43d Sonnet — 

Most happy letters ! fram'd by skilful trade, 
With which that happy name was first designed, 
The which three times thnce happy hath me made, 
"With gifts of body, fortune, and of mind — 

which" are only other words for body, soul, and 
spirit — 

The first my being to me gave by kind, [i. e., by nature,] 
From Mother's womb deriv'd by due descent ; 
The second is my Sovereign Queen most kind. 
That honor and large riches to me lent — 

— " lent," says the poet, and we feel authorized to 
interpret the word in harmony with its use in the 
4th Sonnet of Shakespeare.* Here may be a 

* Vide Remarks on Shakespeare's Sonnets, p. 77. 



148 DBAYTON. [chap. vi. 

stumbling-block to most readers, who may pei 
severingly insist that the English Queen was 
really referred to, though history does not confirm us 
in the belief that she ever overloaded Spenser with 
either honors or riches ; and we prefer to adhere to 
the general theory^ that Spenser means to celebrate 
what he no doubt felt as a fact, that nature, the 
Elizabeth or midwife to all of us, had not only given 
him a body, but had given him also an honorable 
distinction by endowing his soul with riches. 

" The third, my Love, my life's last ornament, 
By whom my spirit out of dust was raised: 
To speak her praise and glory excellent, . 
Of all alive most worthy to be praised. 
Te three Elizabeths ! for ever live. 
That three such graces did unto me give." 

To those who can catch the real meaning of the 
poet, these three Elizabeths are still alive, and will 
"for ever live," as the three Marys will live for 
ever, in a deeper sense than any history can make 
immortal, for it is they who give immortality to the 
history. 

We must repeat, that because Beauty, the 
Sovereign Beauty which the poets see, is really ex- 



CHAP. VI. 



] SIDNEY. 149 



pressed in nature, the efforts of the poets to indicate 
it constantly lead to the use of such imagery as often 
deludes the reader into the belief that the mere 
imagery was intended ; and very few readers allow 
their love of ease to be disturbed by a requirement 
to observe how impossible it is to reconcile a large 
number of the sonnets, scattered in the works of the 
several poets, to the notion of their having been 
addressed to a mortal woman. 

Examples are without number : we take one from 



the 49th Sonnet in the collection entitled Astrophel 
and Stella. 

As usual, the biographers of Sidney insist that 
these Sonnets were addressed to a veritable woman, 
whose name by marriage became Lady Rich — 
though we must believe that Sidney's devotion to 
Stella had the riches of the Spirit in view, ac- 
cording to St. Paul's sense — but without rendering 
obedience to what, in his 1st Sonnet, he calls " step- 
dame Study's blows." These Sonnets of Sidney, 
like those of other writers of the age of Sidney, were 
not addressed to any real person, but represent the 



150 SIDNEY. [chap. VI. 

studies of Sidney into the mysteries of Nature under 
the usual fig^ures. The 49th Sonnet reads thus : 

49. I on my horse, and Love on me, doth try 

Our horsemanships, while, by strange vrork, I prove 

A horseman to my horse, a horse to Love ; 

And now man's wrongs in me, poor beast, descry. 

The rein wherewith my rider doth me tie, 

Are humbled thoughts, which bit of rev'rence move, 

Curb'd in with fear, but with gilt boss above 

Of hope, which makes it seem fair to the eye. 

The wand is Will; thou. Fancy, saddle art. 

Girt fast by Memory ; and while I spur ' 

My horse, he spurs, with sharp desire, my heart : 

He sits me fast, however I do stir. 

And now hath me to his hand so right. 
That in the menage myself takes deUght. 

How can any reader make this circus-like repre- 
sentation, if taken literally, harmonize with the notion 
that the poet is addressing a lady ? In the picture, 
we have a horse, the poet upon the horse, and the 
poet's lady-love, in some inexplicable manner upon 
the poet himself. This is the picture taken liter- 
ally. 

Let us cut this problem through its centre by 
referring to the common notion of Body, Soul, and 



CHAP. VI.] SIDNEY. 151 

Spirit, as the triple object in the poet's thoughts, 
figuring the Body, as the horse (called a " beast " in 
Shakespeare's 50th Sonnet), while the poet figures 
the Soul as himself ; and now, above all, he conceives 
the Spirit, which is figured by the lady-love — the 
figure of the Divine Spirit, universally expressed in 
all things, for which reason it cannot be represented 
by anything in heaven, on earth, or in the waters 
under the earth. 

If the reader but once catches a glimpse of this 
doctrine, and will examine the Sonnets in its light^ he 
will be astonished to find how readily they will give 
out their sense, by which the reader may find him- 
self suddenly as if in intimate association with the 
most devotional men of past ages, who, unshackled 
in their own spirits, have laid no burthens to be 
blindly borne by their followers — ^except that of 
mistaking a Divine for a human love ; by which the 
truth loses nothing, though the reader may indeed 
lose much by wanting Avhat are called lovers' eyes, 
or eyes for the Beautifiil. 

The acute reader, once in the vein for this sort of 
study, can hardly fail to see that most of the Sonnets 
of the period to which we refer are poetic studies 



152 SIDNEY. [chap. VI. 

into the mysteries of nature, figured as a lady, in 
whose service it was happiness to die. 

We do not by any means deny, however, that 
inasmuch as the Beauty of Nature is expressed in all 
things, the sonnet-poets are perpetually running into 
representations of the special, when the real design is 
universal : hence the argument, drawn from the mere 
language of the sonnets, which Ave are willing to 
admit was in some cases addressed to women indeed, 
is almost constantly plausible, that the special only 
was intended ; and to the young, often carried into 
captivity by the sweet word Love, the argument will 
in general appear sound. 

But when we see Petrarch, the patriarch of son- 
net-poetry, making love-sonnets in extreme old age, 
in appearance addressed to a married woman whose 
husband was living, do we not observe the incon- 
gruity, especially when he ventures to compare his 
lady to no less a being than the Son of God ? 

Let the reader remember that some divines and 
many philosophers have called the World the Son of 
God, as Israel is called in Scripture the first-born of 
God, and he may finally pierce the cloud of words, 
and discover the real ground in Nature for a vast 
mass of mystical writhig about something^ said to be 



[chap. VI. SIDNEY. 153 

directly under the eyes of all men, who yet, the mys- 
tics say, do not understand what they see. Life^ 
indeed, is not to be understood in its origin, or as a 
caused thing ; but through experience and observa- 
tion, crowned with the divine blessing, man may 
understand something of life. 

Chaucer, in the poem entitled The Book of the 
Duchesse, in reference to his really nameless Lady, 
intending simply to designate her purity, has used 
the figurative (French) word Blanche, upon which 
the editors have made the grave conclusion that the 
reference was to the wife of John of Gaunt, whose 
name, it appears, was Blanche. We are very con- 
fident that the inference is unfounded; and from 
that error, and similar mistakes with regard to 
some other indications found in the mystic writings 
of the poets, especially the gross interence from the 
Shakespeare Sonnets, we feel disposed to regard the 
allusions in the Sidney Sonnets, seemingly to the 
name Rich^ as having no reference to a person of 
that name. But, if a real person in this case was 
intended, we should desire to look upon the particu- 
lar Sonnets in which the name occurs as exceptional 
or as not belonging legitimately to the general idea 



154 SIDNEY. [chap. VI. 

illustrated in tlie Sonnets; in which we feel bound 
to consider the author of the Defence of Poetry as 
designing to honor what he calls Immortal Beauty 
and Immortal Goodness. 

If not at liberty to do this, we must make large 
deductions from the extravagant and universal 
praise bestowed by all of Sidney's contemporaries 
upon the model knight of the Elizabethan age, who 
can hardly be excused for perseveringly addressing 
love-sonnets to the wife of another man — not content 
with the expression of a supposed Platonic admira- 
tion, but seeking a positive possession, in total dis 
regard of the sacred marital rights of the legitimate 
husband. 

In justice to the memory of Sydney, let us be 
willing at least to seek a symbolical interpretation, 
having truth in view in the first instance, with the 
purpose, also, of defending the interests of humanity 
and the dignity of literature. 



CHAPTER VIL 



CHAUCER 



Lived at a time when hermetic writing was com- 
mon among scholars scattered all over Europe, 
communicating with each other usually in the Latin 
lano^uag:e. He is well known to have been the 
friend of Wickliffe, and was, in spirit, a Reformer. 
He was intimate with the Italian scholars of his 
day, who were also imbued with sentiments which 
led to the Reformation. He thought well enough 
of the hermetic poem of William de Lorris to 
translate into English a considerable part of the 
Romaunt of the Rose, one of the most ingenious 
pieces of Hermetic writing extant — to those who 
understand it ; and although the Canon's Tale was 
by many considered as having been levelled against 
alchemists, it was known by alchemists themselves 
to have been written in their interest, or rather in 
the interest of the mysterious Truth which they 



156 CHAUCER. [chap. vii. 

sought under the figure of searching for the Philo- 
sopher's Stone — the Rose of the Komaunt. 

We have not space for pointing out the evi- 
dences of hermetic writing in Chaucer, but will 
refer to a single feature, noticed by Mrs. Jameson in 
her Loves of the Poets, who, by the way, relying 
upon the sonnets and poems of the poets for bio- 
graphical materials, was entirely deceived, and 
really knew nothing in many instances of the poets 
she assumed to write about. 

" In the earliest of Chaucer's poems [says Mrs. 
Jameson], ' The Court of Love,' he describes him- 
self as enamored of a fair mistress, whom, in the 
style of the time, he calls Rosial, and himself Philo- 
genet." 

It would be quite out of the question to make 
decisive inferences from the use of the mere name, 
Rosial; but one who understands the Romaunt of 
the Bose^ with its two rich jewels at the bottom of 
a well — where Truth is said to be — will naturally 
suspect a symbolic purpose in the adoption of the 
name, Hosial, by Chaucer, as that of his mistress ; 
and the word Philo-genet, the poet's assumed name 
as a lover of the fair lady, is also extremely 
suggestive to a hermetic student, as pointing to the 



CHAP. vii.J CHAUCER. 157 

genesis or genetical state of the poet's own soul. 
Mrs. Jameson continues : 

"The lady is described as 'sprung of noble race 
and high,' with ' angel visage,' ' golden hair,' and 
eyes orient and bright, with figure ' sharply slender,' 
'so that from the head unto the foot all is sweet 
womanhood,' and arrayed in a vest of green, with 
her tresses braided with silk and gold. She treats 
him at first with disdain, and the poet swoons away 
at her feet: satisfied by this convincing proof of 
his sincerity, she is induced to accept his homage, 
and becomes his ' liege lady,' and the sovereign of 
his thoughts." 

All this might happen in the visible world ; but 
it corresponds precisely with the representations of 
the mystics, having in view the Queen of the Isle 
in Borderie's poem, recited in the introductory 
chapter of this work. 

" In this poem," continues Mrs. Jameson, " which 
is extremely wild, and has come down to us in 
an imperfect shape, Chaucer quaintly admonishes all 
lovers, that an absolute faith iu the perfection 
of their mistress, and obedience to her slightest 
caprice, are among the first duties ; that they must 
in all cases believe their lady faultless ; that 



158 CHAUCER. [chap. vii. 

* In everything, she doth but as she should ; 
Construe the best, believe no tales new, 
For many a lie is told that seemeth full true ; 
But think that she, so bounteous and so fair, 
Could not be false ; imagine this alway. 



And though thou seest a fault right at thine eye, 
Excuse it quick, and gloss it prettily.' 

" Nor are they [says Mrs. Jameson], to presume 
on their own worthiness, nor to imagine it possible 
they can earn 

"By right her mercy, nor of equity. 
But of her grace and womanly pity." 

"There is, however [continues Mrs. Jameson,] no 
authority for supposing that at the time this poem 
was written, Chaucer really aspired to the hand of 
any lady of superior birth, or was very seriously in 
love ; he was then about nineteen, and had probably 
selected some fair one, according to the custom 
of his age, to be his 'fancy's queen,' and in the 
same spirit of poetical gallantry, he writes to do 
hav honor ; he says himself, 

' My intent and all my busy care 
Is for to wi'ite this treatise as I can^ 



CHAP. VII.] CHAUCER. 159 

Unto my Ladie, stable, true, and sure; 
Faithful and kind since first that she began. 
Me to accept in service as her man; 
To her be all the pleasures of this book, 
That when her like, she may it read and look.' 

" Mixed up with all this gallantry and refinement 
[says Mrs. Jameson], are some passages inconceivably 
absurd and gross ; but such were those times, — at 
once rude and magnificent — an odd mixture of cloth 
of frieze and cloth of gold ! " 

This is Mrs. Jameson's account of Chaucer's 
Rosial, and of the laws of courtship as prescribed 
for all lovers, who are required to think their mis- 
tresses absolutely perfect, while the lovers are to 
assume no merit whatever as proper to themselves. 

Lovers, without laws so gravely announced, are 
sufficiently apt to think well of their mistresses in 
the flesh, even to the point of losing all sense 
of that unseen perfection, which Spenser, following 
Plato, assures us does really exist, and which we 
think was the object in view of Chaucer in setting 
forth the laws of Love. 

After what we have said of this subject in 
connection with Shakespeare, Spenser, Drayton, and 



160 CHAUCER. [chap. vii. 

Sidney, it would be too great a tax to attempt to 
show that, in the mind of Chaucer, Roslal is a rep- 
resentative figure, and stands for a combination of 
virtues which the poet honors under hLu- name, as 
fidelity, firmness, truth, and goodness — beautiful vir- 
tues in either sex, but when conceived in their unity, 
become the object of all that Mystic Love which 
forms the body of the mystic writings preparatory 
to the Reformation, in which Love signifies religion, 
and which was chiefiy addressed to Her whose ways 
are everlasting command^nents (Ecclesiasticus i. 5). 

It is something in the direction we are pointing 
when we see the prevalence of that sort of Erotic 
literature prior to the Reformation; and see com- 
paratively nothing of it in these days. To what 
is this owing ? The answer is not that human 
nature has changed, but — and this tells the story — 
the stake is no longer an argument' against the 
freedom of opinion. 

It is highly interesting to discover that the 
leading minds of the Middle Ages, if we judge by 
such men as Chaucer, and others of his school, were 
Reformers, in the best sense of the word; but it 
would be more interesting still, if we could discover 
the doctrine, which underlies the external mode 



CHAP. VI ] CHAUCEE. 161 

of writing so mysteriously about Love. The object 
we see is almost always a Lady with divine virtues 
or attributes, — such as the imagination delights to 
picture in one who may be conceived the Queen 
of Heaven. 

If the reader will suppose a screen in front of 
him, behind which he imagines the Perfect or 
Perfection, conceived as a Lady, the embodiment 
of that perfection, and then seek to penetrate the 
screen, with the idea that it can only be done 
by the grace of the Lady, who never exercises that 
grace but upon the condition that the seeker comes 
into conformity with her nature by obedience to her 
laws, which are enigmatically written or pictured on 
the screen itself, — and then figure his hopes of suc- 
ces by her smiles and his fears of failure by her 
frowns, he will have the elements which enter into 
a large mass of Middle Age writings on the Mystic 
Love ; and may, to some extent, enter into an under- 
standing of the mystery, by considering visible 
nature as the screen, and the spirit of nature as the 
Lady. If, in place of the screen, we interpose a 
book purporting to give an account of either the 
screen or of what is behind it, we shall see the same 
philosophy, provided the book is accepted as an in^ 



162 . CHAUCER. [chap, vii 

terpreter of the screen, and not as the screen itself, 
nor as the Lady herself. 

We may complete the programme by regarding 
the spirit as masculine and the visible as feminine, 
and see in man the image of both, himself the 
pilgrim on a journey of discovery, under the re- 
quirement to come into harmony with eternal law. 

At the commencement of the journey the man 
sees the screen, which Spenser figures by the spotted 
hide of the Panther (Sonnet 53) ; or he sees two 
things so intermixed that he can hardly distinguish 
the " golden tresses " of the Lady from the " golden 
net" in which they are attired (Sonnet 37). 

These two things, the tresses and the golden net, 
present one great difficulty to the student. At first 
they seem quite distinct from each other, and the 
pilgrim with difficulty understands that the two are 
not, in fact, so diiferent from each other as they ap- 
pear, and at length they so merge into each other as 
that each becomes the other and the two become One. 

This One is the Mystery : and that Mystery is 
in the student himself, and is recognized when he 
attains to the Pythagorean self-knowledge. 

But at this point the student is no longer him- 
self. He passes into the absolute self-denial, or 



CHAP. VII 



] CHAUCER. 163 



denial of himself; but so finds himself in the whole 
that all " difierence " is negated. He is then pre- 
pared to understand much of the hermetic mysti- 
cism, and will see the force of the 105th Sonnet of 
Shakespeare : 

" Let not my love be eall'd idolatry, 

Nor my beloved as an idol show, 

Since all alike my songs and praises be 

To one, of one, still such, and ever so. 

Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, 

Still constant in a wondrous excellence ; 

Therefore my verse, to constancy confin'd, 

One thing expressing, leaves out difference. 

Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument, — 

Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words; 

And in this change is my invention spent. 

Three themes in one, which wondrous scope aflFords. 
Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone, 
Which three, till now, never kept seat in one." 

This notion of the screen, with the Lady behind 
it, conceived as the Perfect — the BeautifUl, the Good, 
and the True — has this special philosophy to recom- 
mend it — that, if any one conceives the Beauty and 
seeks its smiles by a studied conformity with the high- 
est conceivable perfection, he must, by the law of his 
own spirit, evolve from himself the highest perfee- 



164 CHAUCER. [chap. VII. 

tion of which he is capable ; and in the end he may 
discover the unity of his own better spirit with that 
of the Lady herself; and then the screen itself is seen 
to be but the " seemly raiment " of the seeker's own 
heart, according to the 22d Sonnet of Shakespeare. 

The author of these remarks has not attempted 
a general criticism or a general notice of the poets — 
not even of those he has especially named. He de- 
sires to show that some of the great poets, whose 
names adorn English literature, have elements of 
mysticism in their writings, to be explained on the 
general ground that they made nature a distinct 
object of study, under the figure of a perfect Lady 
— not simply as visible, but as being double, visible 
and invisible, the two being the mystic One. 

Chaucer's minor poems, on a close examination, 
will show the truth of this view. 

We do not feel called upon, for our purpose, to 
go into minute details in proof of this position, and 
will merely refer the reader to the description of the 
" schippe " (ship) in Chaucer's dream, which needed 
neither " mast nor rudder, nor master for the gover- 
nance," <fec. ; and then, by considering that the 
dream takes place in an isle — remembering the 



CHAP. VII.] CHAUCEE. 165 

description of the ship in Colin Clouts in imitation 
of Chaucer — and he must soon see the mystic queen 
of the poets, as the proper subject of the poem. 

The student will see the same Lady in the Book 
of the Duchess. In this latter poem the man in 
mourning requires, as a condition upon which he 
will tell his story, that the hearer shall 

" hooly with all his wytte, 



Do his intente to herken hitte." 

This is simply a caution from the poet himself to 
the reader, that he will give his entire attention to 
the story, in order to understand it, thereby plainly 
warning us of its mystic character. 

The story of the man in black commences — 

" Hit happed that I come an a deye 
Into a jo^ace," &e. 

This place is the inner man ; the scene of the 
story, which has no more to do with John of Gaunt 
than with Jack the Giant-killer, although critics 
have taken great pains to connect the story with 
that nobleman and his lady. 

The poet, as in Colin Clouts, makes a journey 
into spiritual life, and figures the recognized inward 
principles as the " fairest company of ladies " that 



166 CHAUCER. [chap. vii. 

ever any man with eye had seen together in one 
place. (We paraphrase for the convenience of the 
reader.) The poet does not know whether he was 
led to the "place" by accident or by grace, &c. 
Among the ladies — meaning inward principles of 
life — the man saw one that was " like none of the 



rest," 



" For I dare swear [says he], without doubt, 
That as the summer's sun bright 
Is fairer, clearer, and hath more light 
Than any other planet in heaven, 
The moon, or the stars seven ; 
For aU the world, so had she 
Surmounted them all in beauty 
Of manner, and of comeliness, 
Of stature, and of so well-set gladness ; 
Of goodleyhede [goodness], and so well beseye ; 
In short, what shall I say ? 

By God, and by his halwes twelve [twelve apostles] 
It was my sweet, right all herself." 

The Lady is then minutely described, and is no 
other than the mystic queen of the poets, the Cyn- 
thia of Colin Clouts. That she is represented as 
having died in the Book of the Duchess, is only a 
figure for the sense of deprivation which visits the 



CHAP. VII.] CHAT7CEK. 167 

poetic soul when its consciousness of inward truth 
and beauty is obscured. Herbert tells us of the 
effect in the poem already cited : 

" what a damp and shade 
Doth me mvade ! 
No stormy night 
Can so afflict, or so affright, 
As thy eclipsed light," 

It is not out of place in this connection to re- 
mind the reader of the doctrine that heaven is in 
man, according to Scripture ; and whether figured 
as a Lady conceived as perfect, or as the Immanuel 
himself, the result upon the inquiring soul will be 
the same. If this is thought to be too grave a 
subject to be thus introduced, let the reader perceive 
in this the reason, or one of the reasons, why poets 
have written so mystically about it in dreams, as 
may be seen in most of Chaucer's minor poems. 

Until pointed out, the general reader can scarcely 
be aware of the extent to which Scripture truth is 
appropriated by Chaucer and other poets, yet almost 
always in the mystic mode of writing. 

Thus, in the Flower and the Leaf, Chaucer de- 
scribes the narroio way which leadeth unto life 
(Matt. vii. 14), as follows. In a somewhat dis- 



168 CHAUCER. [chap. vii. 

turbed state of the spirit, he describes himself as 
walking through marTellous scenery — the world • 

" And, at the last, a path of Uttle brede 
I found, that greatly had not used be ; 
For it forgrowen was with grass and weede, 
That well unneth a wighte might it see : 
Thought I, ' This path some whider goth, parde ! ' 
And so I followed, till it me brought 
To right a pleasant herber, well wrought," &c. 

iNTow the arbor to Avhich the poet was brought 
was still the man (sometimes described as a ship), 
and is said to have been so constructed (surrounded 
by a hedge, as it is called), that no one from with- 
out could see whether " there were any wight within 
or no ; but one within might perceive all that there 
was withoute, in the field," &c. 

This is simply the poet's mode of indicating man 
as the subject of the poem ; and in this Flower and 
the Leaf, the chief subject of contemplation is immor- 
tality, under the emblem of the Daisy (or the Mar- 
guerette). 

The general reader does not usually know what 
he misses in the reading of Chaucer, by not recog- 
nizing the mystical elements pervading his poems, 



CHAP. VII 



] CHAUCEK. 169 



and more especially by not understanding that 
he carries the secret in himself, where heaven is 
said to be. 

The Cuckoo and the Nightingale is one of the 
most easily understood of the smaller poems of 
Chaucer, and one of the most beautiful. Like most 
of the minor poems of Chaucer, it is allegorical ; the 
Nightingale being a figure for all that is good in 
life, while the Cuckoo, as usual, figures whatever is 
opposite to it — a disturbing evil. 

In this poem Mr. Bell finds occasion for a pointed 
note at page 221 (vol. iv.), in these words: 

" Thus, in the Court of Love and the Assembly of Foules, 
the birds are represented as worshipping Nature, the God of 
love." 

This object, here called the God of Love, is no 
other than the same Nature when figured as 2i, per- 
fect lady, to whom the lover is said to owe entire 
obedience, according to the injunction already re- 
cited from the Court of Love. 

This object, when figured as a person, is gene- 
rally represented either as masculine or as feminine, 
although in some few instances it is I'cferred to as a 
sacred object under another name. In the 20th 



170 CHAUCER. [chap. vil. 

Sonnet of Shakespeare the two natures are addressed 
as one — the master-mistress of the poet's love. 

When mystic writers refer to Nature as perfect, 
they always mean perfect in respect to its spirit, 
which is regarded as One, ever the " Same," and 
incapable of change. But they never say this in a 
physical or material sense, for the poets are the 
living Nightingales of the human race, to whom a 
mere materialist is a Cuckoo — a bird of evil omen. 



CHAPTER Vni. 

We find a very perfect example of the hermetic 
poet in 

CAEEW. 

This poet addressed many of his poems to Celia; 
and in Celia we see Cynthia — the Cynthia of Colin 
Clouts and of the poet Drayton ; and we see also 
the Rosalind or Rosial of Chaucer in the same lady. 

It is not known, says Mrs. Jameson, following 
the statements of others, who Carew's Celia was : 
and it does not seem to have occurred to any one 
that, like Shakespeare's "lovely boy," she might 
have been of the mystic tribe; but Lord Clarendon, 
probably knowing as little of Carew as of other 
poets with their mystical or mythical loves, does not 
hesitate to record as history the mere suppositions of 
others about the life and latter years of the poet, 
who was, we have no reason to doubt, as pure a 



172 CAREW. [chap. VIII. 

Christian as Spenser shows himself to have been in 
Colin Clouts and elsewhere in his writings. 

We read of a certain lady in Ecclesiasticus (iv. 
16-18), worthy of all love, and who might well be 
regarded as the very object of the mystical poets in 
most of what they write of Rosalind, &g. : 

Ecclus. iv. 16 : If a man commit himself unto her, he shall 
inherit her ; and his generation shall hold her in possession. 

17. For at the first she will walk with him by crooked ways, 
and bring fear and dread upon him, and torment him with her 
discipline, until she may trust his soul and try him by her laws — 

and these laws, we are told, chap. i. 5, are everlast- 
ing commandments — 

18. Then will she return the straight way unto him, and 
comfort him, and show him her seci^ets. 

19. But if he go wrong she will forsake him, and give him 
over to his own ruin. 

What lady — or, to drop the feeble modern phrase, 
what woman — is here spoken of? She is the uni- 
versal mother, who is represented as a widow when 
any one of her children " go wrong," or, in other 
words, do wrong ; but we read that He that loveth 
her loveth life, and they that seek her early shall 



CHAP. Tin 



.] CAEEW. 173 



be filled with joy. * * They that serve her shall 
minister to the Holy One : and them that love her 
the Lord doth love. 

These are, the words of the wise man; and all 
experience and all obserA''ation in life tend to fortify 
them. But the woman is wisdom: and it was of 
this woman that the wise man said, " I loved her and 
sought her out from my youth, I desired to make her 
my spouse^ and I was a lover of her beauty.'''' 

And where can the beauty of wisdom be seen 
save in the works of God, where the spirit of wisdom 
is said to " work all things." Hence this teaching 
brings the student around again to the universal 
mother, the Lady of the poets. 

We have not intended to say or to intimate that 
the object of poetic adoration is always conceived 
in the same manner among the poets, or is always 
conceived in the same way by any one poet at dif- 
ferent periods of life. If it were so, it might be 
defined and brought before the imagination of the 
reader. We say that, generally, the object is Nature 
conceived in the spirit as the Spirit of Beauty, and 
then figured as a lady ; but with a freedom which 
makes beauty, in all objects of nature, subservient 
to the poet. 



174 CAREW. [ 



CHAP. VIII. 



The illustrations of hermetic writing are very- 
numerous in Carew ; and the practised reader can 
hardly look amiss for them in the volume we have 
before us, while the general reader will scarcely see 
anything but common-place writing. 

Let us take, fof example, a little poem entitled, 

ON SIGHT OF A GENTLEWOMAN'S FACE IN THE WATER. 

1. Stand still, you floods, do not deface 

That image which you bear ; 
So votaries from every place 
To you shall altars rear. 
* 

2. No winds but lovers' sighs blow here. 

To trouble these glad streams. 
On which no star from any sphere 
Did ever dart such beams. 

3. To crystal then in haste congeal, 

Lest you should lose your bliss; 
And to my cruel fair reveal 
How cold, how hard she is. 

4. But if the envious nymphs shall fear 

Their beauties will be scorned, 

And hire the ruder winds to tear 

That face which you adorned ; 



CHAP. VIII.] CAREW. 175 

5. Then rage and foam amain, that we 
Their malice may despise ; 
And from your froth we soon shall see 
A second Venus rise." 



Here the classical allusion to Venus, as rising 
from the foam of the sea, may answer a double pur- 
pose, not only serving to show the sense of Carew in 
his own poem, but his understanding, also, of the 
fable of Venus rising from the foam of the sea — 
the sea being Nature, whose beauty is Venus; 
and this beauty is the face seen by Carew in the 
water. 

Again : 

When Carew sees a lady, a veritable lady, who 
is, in his eye or estimation, simple and good, un- 
affectedly true by nature, and altogether free from 
art and guile, he writes a little poem and professes 
his love for the lady; because, as he tells us, she 
resembles his mistress, his mistress being Nature. 
Thus: 

TO A LADY RESEMBLING MY MISTRESS. 

1. Fair copy of my Celia's face, 

Twin of my soul, thy perfect grace 
Claims in my love an equal place. 



176 CAEEW. [c 

2. Disdain not a divided heart : 

Though all be hers, you shall have part ; 
Love is not ty'd to rules of art. 

3. For as my soul first to her flew, 
Yet stay'd with me ; so now 'tis true 
It dwells with her, though fled to you. 

4. Then entertain this wand'ring guest, 
And if not love, allow it rest ; 

It left not, but mistook its nest. 

5. Nor think my love, or your fair eyes, 
Cheaper, 'cause from the sympathies 
You hold with her, these flames arise. 

6. To lead, or brass, or some such bad 
Metal, a prince's stamp may add 
That value, which it never had. 

7. But to the pure refined ore. 

The stamp of kings imparts no more 
Worth, than the metal had before ; 

8. Only the image gives the rate 

. To subjects ; in a foreign state 
'Tis prized as much for its own weight. 



HAP. VIII. 



CHAP. VIII 



.] CAREW. 177 



9. So, though all other hearts resign 

To your pure worth, yet you have mine 
Only because you are her coin. 

That is, plainly, the lady was admired because of 
her truthfulness and other qualities, which marked 
her as N'ature's coin. 

When an impulse of mere idle or vain curiosity, 
and not a true love, or love of truth, prompts some 
one to seek to discover the hermetic mistress of 
Carew, he, as usual, writes a little poem in which he 
warns the impudent seeker to beware. Thus : 

TO ONE THAT DESIRED TO KNOW MY MISTRESS. 

Seek not to know my love, for she 

Hath vowed her constant faith to me ; 

Her mild aspects are mine, and thou 

Shalt only find a stormy brow : 

For if her beauty stir desire 

In me, her kisses quench the fire ; 

Or, I can to love's fountain go, 

Or dwell upon her hills of snow. 

But when thou burn'st, she shall not spare 

One gentle breath to cool the air ; 

Thou shalt not climb those Alps, nor spy 

Where the sweet springs of Venus lie ; 



178 CAKEW. [chap. viii. 

Search hidden nature, and there find 
A TREASURE to enricli thy mind ; 
Discover arts not yet reveal'd, 
But let my mistress live conceal'd ; 
Though men by knowledge wiser grow, 
Yet here 'tis wisdom not to know. 

Here the seeker is really told where to search for 
the secret treasure, it being hid in nature ; yet with a 
refinement of artistic skill, the poet points to possible 
incidental discoveries, like those of the gold-seekers 
in alchemy, who, in searching for the philosopher's 
stone, which also is the hidden "treasure," if they 
found not the treasure itself, really made many 
incidental discoveries, which ultimately grew into 
the science of chemistry. 

In the poem entitled " My mistress commanding 
me to return her letters," the poet indicates a change 
of doctrine, not in its principle, as depending upon 
his mistress, but in having fallen short of a complete 
knowledge of the mistress, to wit, Nature. The 
poet describes himself as having met the lady by 
" chance " while travelling on the road of the god of 
love ; and then tells us of his discovery that there 
was more in the lady than he knew or had known — 
a very common case upon this subject. He relied upon 



CHAP. VIII 



.] CAREW. 179 



his first impressions, and walked very confidently in 
them for a time, which he calls walking by the side 
of his mistress " from place to place, fearing no vio- 
lence," &G. In other words, he had accej^ted as 
Truths and walked by it confidently, that which a 
further experience of the world had shown to be 
defective or incomplete. He had discovered that 
there was more in nature, within and without, than 
his philosophy (or intuition) had represented ; and 
he then felt called upon, by the highest considera- 
tions of Truth, his mistress, to lay aside his cruder 
opinions (figured as his letters to his mistress), and 
make a new appeal to obtain what he calls the 
" heart " of his lady, meaning a more central truth. 

His mistress signifies Truth, (for nature and truth 
are one), whose " sway " is so powerful, that her 
commands must be obeyed. In the act of obedience 
he renews the expression of his perfect faith : 

" Tell her no length of time, nor change of air, 
No cruelty, disdain, absence, despair — 
No, nor her steadfast constancy — can deter 
My vassal heart from ever honoring her." 

This is the doctrine announced by Chaucer; and 
it is just and proper, only in view of the mystic 



180 CAREW. [ 



CHAP. VIII. 



truth conveyed in it, that the lady, to whom such 
vassalage is due, is perfection, or perfect Truth. 

In this way most of Carew's poems are to be in- 
terpreted. 

When the poet has been guilty of some neglect 
of Her whose " ways are everlasting command- 
ments," and falls accordingly into deserved evil 
— feeling it perhaps " right at his eye " — he is ready 
with his little poem, in which he figures his mistress 
(nature) as an angry " Lady " rebuking him for his 
inconstancy, &c. 

Carew gives us a hermetic poem, entitled, 

TO MY RIVAL. 

Hence, vain intruder ! haste away, 
Wash not with unhallow'd brine 
The footsteps of my CeUa's shrine ; 

Nor on her purer altars lay 

Thy empty words, accents that may 
Some looser dame to love incline : 
She must have offerings more divine ; 

Such pearly drops, as youthful May 

Scatters before the rising day ; 

Such smooth soft language, as each line 

Might soothe an angry God, or stay 



CHAP. viii.J CAREW. 181 

Jore's thunder, make the hearers pine 
With envy: do this, thou shalt be 
Servant to her, rival with me. 

It is perhaps not beyond the limits of the possi- 
ble, that one man shall thus invite a rival to become 
a servant with him in the courtship of the same 
mortal woman ; but we hope the reader will not at- 
tempt to confirm the supposition by appealing to the 
story of "Cato. 

The rivalry invited by Carew is such as a com- 
municant in the church might extend to an infidel, 
to partake of the Holy Sacrament, after first warn- 
ing him to put away from him his " evil doings," 
assuring him — the condition being complied with — 
he shall be an acknowledged servant of God and a 
rival with him in seeking His grace ; for the true 
lady in the case, as in the Scripture itself, is called 
the bride of the Lord. 

The impossibility of truly picturing the ideal 
Beauty is the subject of Carew's poem addressed 

To THE Painter, 

in which the truth is expressed, but in a concealed 
or hermetic style. 



182 CAREW. [chap. VIII. 

Fond man, that hop'st to catch that face, &c. 

The face here mtended is not the face of either 
man or woman, but the face of Nature, seen in her 
Beauty, which signifies love also in this class of 
writings. This is the face referred to in Shakes- 
peare's 93d Sonnet : 

"Heaven in thy creation did decree 
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwgU. 

W y^ v^ ^ tKf 

How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow, 
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show ! " 

But to return to Carew ; 

Fond man, that hop'st !o catch that face, 
With those false colors, whose short grace 
Serves but to show the lookers on 
The faults of thy presumption ; 
Or at the least to let us see 
That is divine, but yet not she: &Ci 

Thus far this poem expresses the principle set 
out in Shakespeare's 84th Sonnet, in the concluding 
lines addressed to the Beautiful : 

" You to your beauteous blessings add a curse. 

Being, fond on praise which makes your praises worse." 

That is, the invisible beauty cannot but be made 



CHAP. VIII 



] CAREW. 183 



less (being the perfect in itself), by any human at- 
tempt to represent it, all such representations mak- 



mg it " worse. 



Shakespeare's sense of this is the root of his 
opening Sonnets, in the 16th of which he invokes the 
direct inspiration of the Spirit of Beauty itself, as- 
sured that Beauty must live when " drawn by its 
own sweet skill," meaning nature-skill. 

This is also the precise meaning of the conclud- 
ing lines of Carew's poem addressed To the Painter, 
which is in the very sj^irit of the opening Sonnets of 
Shakespeare, having reference to the same " heir," as 
a product by the poet of the beautifiil when inspired 
by the Spirit of Beauty itself. Says Carew to the 
imaginary painter, 

Yet your art cannot equalize 
This picture in her lover's eyes. 

Here the expression " lover's eyes " is technical, 
as belonging to that class of poets technically called 
lovers-^not because of their love of woman, but be-r 
cause they were so penetrated by the spirit of love 
as to see it in nature, as the beauty of nature. The 
expression lovers' eyes, in this same sense, is ii^ 



184 CAEEW. [ 



CHAP. VIII. 



Shakespeare's 55th Sonnet, to which the reader is 
referred ; for the Spirit of Beauty could surely be 
seen, as the poet thought, by that spirit of love, the 
possession of which made the lover in the sense here 
explained. Carew proceeds : 

His eyes the pencils are which limn 
Her truly, as hers copy him. 

Here the spirit of man and the spirit of nature 

are, as it were, confronted, and are said to copy each 

« 
other ; for therein lies the true unity which, for the 

reason that it has no counterpart, becomes irrepre- 

sentable by visible imagery. 

A truer unity is not possible than that wherein 

man comes into conscious unison with nature, when 

the two may be said poetically to image or copy 

each other ; and this is what is imaged in Carew's 

mystical poem : 

His eyes the pencils are which limn 

Her truly, as hers copy him ; 

His heart the tablet which alone 

Is for that portrait the truest stone. 

If you would a truer see, 

Mark it in their posterity ; 

And you shall read it truly there, 

When the glad world shall see their heir. 



CHAP. VIII 



] CAKEW. 185 



We see in these lines the hermetic poet. He is 
not writing of a physical heir in the ordinary sense ; 
but he had in his mind that heir which the artist 
produces when inspired by the Beauty of Nature, 
with a sense of which the true artist is pene- 
trated as with the spirit of life itself. 

When thus made alive^ as it were, with life itself, 
the artist presents us with true copies of nature 
where Beauty lives unseen to the natural eye. 

This is the explanation of a poem entitled The 
Inquiry, claimed for both Carew and Herrick — 
doubtless in harmony with the sentiments of both of 
the poets. 

THE INQUIRY. 

Amongst the myrtles as I walked, 
Love and my sighs thus intertalked : 
Tell me (said I, in deep distress) 
Where may I find my shepherdess ? 

Here the shepherdess is a figure for the Lady 
Beauty, which, as we say, though in some sense visi- 
ble in all things to the true lover, is not, on the 
other hand, particularly visible in any one thing ; 
just as we say God is everywhere, and, for that rea- 
son, is nowhere in particular ; for to say that God 



186 CAEEW. [ 



CHAP. VIII. 



is in any particular place, implies that he who is 
everywhere is not in some other place — the same 
view making it necessary, if we would be consistent, 
to say that, because Providence controls and directs 
all things, no particular thing or event can philoso- 
phically be said to be providential. 
The poem proceeds : 

Thou fool (said Love), knowest thou not this ? 
In everything that's good she is: 

Can the reader imagine that here the poet is 
speaking of a particular lady? No, surely. His 
object is to direct attention to the beauty of nature, 
and he continues : 

In yonder tulip go and seek, 

There thou may'st find her lip, her cheek. 

In yon enamelled pansy by, 
There thou shalt have her curious eye ; 
In bloom of peach, in rosy bud. 
There wave the streamers of her blood. 

In brightest lily that there stands, 
The emblems of her whiter hands — 

here we may see the " lily hands," &c., of Spen- 
ser's 1st Sonnet — 



OHAP. VIII 



.] CAREW. 187 



In yonder rising hill there smells 
Such sweets as in her bosom dwells. 

'Tis true, (said I,) and thereupon 
I went to pluck them one by one, 
To make of parts a union ; 
But on a sudden all was gone. 

With that I stopped. Said Love, These be, 

(Fond man,) resemblances of thee; 

And as these flowers, thy joys shall die, 

Even in the twinkling of an eye. 
And all thy hopes of her shall wither, 
Like these short sweets thus knit together. 

That is, to paraphrase the last couplet — All of 
thy hopes of seeing the beauty of nature as a whole, 
shall perish, because thou hast sought to divide the 
indivisible, and to make a living reality of perishable 
fragments. 

As a parallel to Carew's poem. To a Painter, we 
cite Spenser's 21st Sonnet, which has precisely the 
same object : 

" The glorious portrait of that angel's face, 
Made to amaze weak men's confused skill, 
And this world's worthless glory to embase, 



188 CAREW. [ 



CHAP. Villi 



What pen, what pencil, can express her fill ? [full or 

fully. 1 ^ ife ^ * 

A greater craftsman's hand thereto doth need. 
That can express the Life of things indeed." 

We do not, by any means, claim a mystic char- 
acter for all of Carew's poems. Very far from it ; 
for, side by side with those in which we see the mys- 
tic element, we notice others having no such features. 
The truth is, that the best poets are also the most natu- 
ral, while, at the same time, they become so because 
the natural is also the spiritual, very much as the doc- 
trine is often asserted that God is seen in His works, 
which, though in some sense different from the 
Maker, are nevertheless nothing without the Maker. 

That Carew recognized the Queen of Beauty, 
which is only another expression for the Spirit in 
nature, through which it ceases to appear merely 
material, is sufficiently plain from the epistle to 
Townsend, in answer to a request to write on the 
subject of the death of the King of Sweden. In this 
poetic epistle Carew refers to a work by Townsend 
himself, apparently entitled the Shepherd's Paradise, 
which we take to be only another name for Arcadia, 
or the true poet's Paradise. In this epistle Carew 
eulogizes Townsend in the highest strain, and says ; 



CHAP. VIII 



.] CAREW. 189 



For who like thee, (whose loose discourse is far 
More neat and polished than our poems are, 
Whose very gait's more graceful than our dance,) 
In sweetly-flowing numbers, may advance 
The glorious night ; &c. — 

evidently referring to the Shepherd's Paradise, in 
which the writer is said to have sent down a troop 
of deities in their angel-shapes to guide 

Our steerless barques in passion's swelling tide, 
By virtue's card, and brought us from above 
A pattern of their own celestial love. 
Nor lay it [says our poet] in dark sullen precepts 

drown'd. 
But with rich fancy and clear action crown'd, 
Through a mysterious fable (that was drawn 
Like a transparent veil of purest lawn. 
Before their dazzling beauties) the divine 
Venus did with her heavenly Cupid shine. 
The story's curious web, the masculine style, 
The subtle sense, did time and sleep beguile ; 
Pinion'd and charm'd they stood to gaze upon 
Th' angel-like forms, gestures and motion; 
To hear those ravishing sounds, that did dispense 
Knowledge and pleasure to the soul and sense. 
It fill'd us with amazement to behold 
Love mdde all spirit, his corporeal mould, 
Dissected into atoms, melt awaii 



190 CAEEW. [ 



CHAP. vni. 



To empty air, and from the gross allay 
Of mixtures, and compounding accidents 
Refin'd to immaterial elements. 
But when the Queen of Beauty did inspire 
The air with perfumes, and our hearts with fire, 
Breathing, from her celestial organ, sweet 
Harmonious notes, our souls fell at her feet, 
And did, with humble reverend duty, more 
Her rare perfections than high state adore. 

While the writer of these remarks has no doubt 
whatever of the hermetic character of many of the 
poems of Carew, he is fully impressed with the dif- 
ficulty of making it appear to the general reader, 
and suggests, in addition to what has been exhibited 
from the poems themselves, that the reader will bear 
in mind that most of the poets have much to say of 
what they call their Muse or sometimes the Muses, 
and then consider what the expression signifies. 
The poetic Muse is the poet's inspiration ; and this 
again is the poet's genius ; and here, we must consid- 
er still further, that this is not anything absolutely 
apart from or out of nature, only so far as to be invis- 
ible, or, in other words, inaccessible to the physical 
senses. If now the reader will conceive Nature to 
be a whole, a unity, and call it the Muse of the poet, 



CHAP. VIII 



.] CAREW. 191 



under any feminine name, as that of Cynthia, or the 
Queen of Beauty, or by any other name, only hold- 
ing the name subordinate to that for which it stands, 
he may at length come to see the image of it directly 
under his eyes ; and his problem then will be to un- 
derstand it. 

The hermetic character of Carew's poems may 
perhaps come to light by setting out with a hypo? 
thesis in the following manner : 

In the poem addressed To the Painter, we have 
seen that the poet places particular emphasis upon 
what he calls thQ picture in the lover's eyes : 

His eyes the pencils are which limn 
Her truly, as hers copy him. 

Let us suppose, hypothetically, that the real lady 
in this case is Lady Nature, of whom the poet has a 
certain spiritualized conception, which, in reality, is 
the basis of the poet's genius — his muse or inspira- 
tion ; but that the poet is conscious of its peculiarity, 
in that it stands before his mind as the very princi- 
ple of life, by which the poet realizes and enjoys a 
certain sense of unity with the spirit of nature and 
of life. This we may conceive the poet's secret, of 
which he is not to speak publicly, because, among 



192 CAREW. [chap. Till. 

other reasons, the object is regarded with a certain 
sacredness on account of its purity, which refuses all 
admixture with what is commonly called the profane, 
or corrupt world. 

This state of the poet places him in a position by 
which he has what we call a secret sense of his unity 
with the higher life, called, by Shakespeare, in Son- 
net 39, his " better part ; " and this state of things 
becomes the ground of a poem by Carew, ad- 
dressed 

To MY Mistress in Absence : 

in which the poet secretly (or in a hermetic method), 
reveals, as it were, the sense of his unity with the 
higher spirit, notwithstanding his separation in the 
body, which he calls " absence." In this poem the 
poet represents himself as 

Tasting a sweet and subtle bliss, 

Such as gross lovers cannot know, 

Whose hands and lips meet here below, &c. 

Here we have an example of the jioet's secret 
love ; and as this was on no account to be pro- 
claimed, the poet writes a little poem, entitled 

SECRESY PROTESTED. 

Fear not, dear Love, that I'll reveal 
Those hours of pleasure we two steal ; 



CHAP. VIII.] CAREW. 193 

No eye shall see, nor yet the sun 
Descry, what thou and I have done ; 
No ear shall hear our love, but we 
Silent as the night will be. 
The God of Love himself, whose dart 
Did first wound mine, and then thy heart, 
Shall never know that we can tell 
What sweets in stolen embraces dwell. 
This only means may find it out, 
If, when I die, physicians doubt 
What caused my death, and there to view 
Of all their judgments which was true, 
Rip up my heart, oh ! then, I fear, 
The world will see thy picture there. 

In order to a realization of the secret joy, some 
original division of the unity is conceived as neces- 
sary ; and this " disunion " is thence called " blessed " 
— as in the poem entitled 

An Hymeneal Dialogue: 

the Chorus of which has no meaning except from the 
hypothetical mysticism we have assumed. 

blest disunion, that doth so 
Our bodies from our souls divide, 

As two do one, and one four grow, 
Each by contraction multiplied. 

9 



194 CAEEW. [ 



CHAP. VIII. 



That is, the poet's body is separated from the 
higher spirit, and then, by losing or contracting it- 
self, becomes one ; but each of the inseparable parts, 
being two (or soul and body), grows thus to four ; 
but as this would be impossible but for an original 
separation, division, or disunion of the one, the dis- 
union itself, as a means to the secret joy, is called 
" blessed." 

By seizing the poet's idea of the Lady, as the 
Beautiful in a divine sense, and hence called the 
Queen of Beauty, the reader is prepared to see the 
meaning of the little poem, or song, entitled 



A BEAUTIFUL MISTRESS. 

If when the sun at noon displays 

His bright rays, 

Thou but appear, 
He then, all pale with shame and fear, 

Quencheth his light, 
Hides his dark brow, flies from thy sight, 

And grows more dim 
Compared to thee, than stars to him. 
If thou but show thy face again, 
When darkness doth at midnight reign, 
The darkness flies, and light is hurl'd 
Round about the silent world : 



CHAP. Till.] CAEEW. 195 

So as alike thou driv'st away 

Both light and darkness, night and day. 

The reader may be certain that this poem was 
not addressed to a lady of flesh and blood, however 
pretty and complimentary it may seem to be in that 
sense ; but it was addressed to the poet's Muse— his 
genius or inspiration, or Nature, as Arcadia, or as 
seen in the Spirit of Beauty. 

This same Arcadian Beauty is the object ad- 
dressed in the 18th of the Shakespeare Sonnets : 

" Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate," &c. 

This Beauty, or Spirit of Beauty, is that to which 
Shakespeare refers in the 24th Sonnet, precisely in 
the sense of Care w in his poem addressed To the 
Painter: 

" For through the painter must you see his skill, 
To find where your true unage pictur'd lies ; 
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still," &c. 

This is also the "jewel" of the 2Vth Sonnet of 
Shakespeare. 

Let the reader so conceive it — as the Muse of 
Shakespeare— and observe the almost fearful sub- 
limity of the 2'7th Sonnet: 



1 96 CAEEW. [ 



CHAP. VIII. 



"Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, 
The dear repose for limbs with travail tir'd ; 
But then begins a journey in my head, 
To work my mind, when body's work 's expir'd : 
For then my thoughts (from far where I abide) — 

in absence, as Carew expresses it — 

Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee. 

And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, 

Looking on darkness which the blind do see : 

Save that my soul's imaginary sight 

Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, 

Which like a jewel hung in ghastly night, 

Makes black night beauteous and her old face new." 

The student may see the Lady in many of Ca- 
rew's poems not cited above. She is in the poem 
addressed " To his Mistress, confined." She is in the 
poem entitled "The Hue and Cry." She is the 
subject of the song, "Ask me no more," &g. She is 
in " The Spark," which refers to the Promethean 
Spark, or the poet's life-spirit. She is seen in the 
poem entitled " The Incommunicability of Love ; " 
and in the poem, " To one who, when I praised my 
Mistress's Beauty, said I was blind." She is in the 
song beginning, " Would you know what's soft ? " 



CHAP. VIII 



•] CAEEW. 197 



and in very many other poems where the unpre- 
pared general reader would not suspect it. 

It is a point by no means to be overlooked, that 
while it is a primary object in the interpretation of 
mystical, or indeed of any writings Avhatever, to dis- 
cover the thought of the writer, it is yet of indispen- 
sable necessity, for the security of one's own think- 
ing, to bring the interpretation to the test of uni- 
versal thought itself. We may perfectly recognize 
the thought of another without in any manner ac- 
quiescing in it, and self-protection requires the appeal 
to universal Truth to guard against being misled 
by the thought of another. 

We reverse the order of Truth when we read 
with the assumption that a writing, or the thought 
of a writer, is true ; yet, plainly, before we can as- 
certain the character of another man's thouo-ht we 
must discover the thought itself: and then, we re- 
peat, it is altogether a separate inquiry to discover 
a true and reliable test for it ; and here every stu- 
dent must appeal to God's Truth, for this is what 
books cannot teach. If, now, any one should ask, 
And what is God's Truth? the answer must be a 
re-affirmation, that it is God's Truth itself; for no 



198 CAEEW. [ 



CHAP. VIII. 



absurdity can parallel that of attempting to sus- 
tain Truth by anything short of Truth itself. To 
apply this to the writings of a poet or a philoso- 
pher, we must first discover the thought of the 
writer, and then, as a separate question, we must de- 
termine its value in reference to eternal Truth. 

If the student cannot now be satisfied with this 
view, we must, for the present, refer him to a period 
later in life, when, perhaps, the mystic theory may 
seem less repugnant to the actualities of sense ; or 
rather, when the sensuous nature itself may some- 
vz-iat lose its tyrannical hold upon the life it im- 
])nsong. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Why should not the truth, so far as the poets 
are concerned, be told on this as upon other subjects ! 
If the true is also the good, according to the declara- 
tion of poets and philosophers and no less of divines, 
why do writers perseveringly seek to mystify and 
hide it ? Is it because it is a gift, and must be found 
or received by each one for himself? Let this be 
granted, and then we must ask. Are we aided in the 
pursuit of an obscure truth by books purposely writ- 
ten to hide that truth, and make it still more ob- 
scure ? Are men more likely to find it by accident 
when it is purposely hid under a bushel ? 

This is not according to the teaching of old, if 
we may credit an ancient record, where we read : 
" neither do men light a candle, and put it under a 
bushel, but on a candlestick, and it giveth light unto 
all that are in the house." 

Yet here, again, we meet with this very instruc- 



200 GENERAL REMARKS. [chap. ix. 

tion in one of the most mystical of books, where the 
"Strange Shepherd" forms the very subject of a 
mystical history, to unveil which is held by many to 
be a most dangerous if not an unpardonable sin. 

In view of so many difficulties, one is almost 
tempted to believe that all the books in the world, 
on one particular subject, have become, instead of 
helps to the truth, but so many hindrances, making 
the natural w^ilderness of the world darker in a ten- 
fold degree than it otherwise would be, insomuch 
that it becomes ten times a truth, that Truth itself 
is a divine gift, to which the natural or unassisted 
man can by no means attain : yet as despair is said 
to be the devil's bait, the student must, on no ac- 
count, give over his search, but should rather follow 
the example of Colin by taking a seat at the foot (.f 
Old Mole, that is, of Great Nature, on the ground, 
(by which so many writers figure humility,) and 
there, by a true practice upon his oaten reed, or 
Spirit of Truth, endeavor to bring to his assistance 
the Strange Shepherd, who may in due time make 
himself known as the only friend of man, not subject 
to be actually changed by being falsely written 
about ; and if he should prove to be the bridegroom 
of Cynthia herself, let him be received, and honored 



CHAP. IX.] GENERAL REMARKS. 201 

with her as the sacred double nature in one, of 
which man himself, and woman no less, is the " image 
humane" referred to in line 351 of the poem we 
have had under examination. 

In the treatment we have given this subject, we 
consider that we have made an effort to rescue cer- 
tain of the hermetic poets from the imputation of 
what ought to be regarded as an impious perversion 
of the divine gift, by many of the class, if the edge 
of criticism be not thus turned aside ; for the simple 
reason, that where the whole power of the poet is 
exhausted in doing honor to human love, there can 
be no religious sentiment in the soul to be honored. 

We urge that the entire vocabulary of Love is 
exhausted by the poets ; and if woman was the sole 
object there could have been no object of religious 
love in the mind of the devotees ; but let it be sup- 
posed that the poets had religious love in view, (we 
refer to those poets who were the authors of what 
must be called the love-literature of the middle age, 
and the period just following it, when Petrarch 
does not hesitate to compare Laura to Jesus Christ,) 
and we discover, by a very simple process of obser- 
vation, the element in which the opposition to the 
visible church nursed itself until it ripened into the 
9* 



202 GENERAL REMARKS. [chap. ix. 

Keformation. Love, as treated by this class of 
poets, was a form of religious devotion, carried on in 
a hermetic method as a protection against the perse- 
cutions of the Church. A religious sentiment was 
the animating spirit which easily became personified 
in lovely woman, because, next to God, she is in 
reality the true object of worship on earth ; but if 
woman becomes first in the order of the affections, 
love itself must soon become unlovely even in the 
eyes of its votaries. Hence the beauty of the declara- 
tion of one who perfectly understood the meaning of 
the word : 

" I could not love thee, dear ! so much, 
Lov'd I not honor more." 

We say then, that, among the poets who have 
given us what we think is best defined as love-lite- 
rature, we must suppose that truth, the spirit of 
truth, in the sense of religion, must be considered as 
the object ; and the poems of those ages, embracing 
numberless sonnets, must be regarded as religious 
studies or contemplations, expressing more or less 
insight into nature, — the nature of God ; for nature 
is the nature of God. 

A thoughtful student will find some confirmation 



CHAP. IX.] GENERAL REMARKS. 203 

of this view by contrasting the metaphysical charac- 
ter of the literature of which we speak, its solemnity, 
reserve and stateliness, with the acknowledged love- 
writings of Burns, Moore, Byron, and other recent 
writers, who indeed, if we may credit public report, 
endangered their own salvation by sacrificing only 
at the altar of human beauty, in forgetfulness of 
what Sidney calls the " unspeakable and everlasting 
Beauty," to which his own Sonnets were addressed 
under the figure of Stella. 

We understand, therefore, that when Colin Clouts 
is led to speak of his individual love, as in lines from 
464, the poet is not speaking of woman ; but he is 
declaring his devotion to certain principles which re- 
present to him immortal truth (line 257), and these 
also as they express a unity in the highest sense, 
that of the divine nature. 

" Far be it (quoth Colin Clouts) from me, 
That I of gentle maids should ill deserve : 
For that myself I do profess to be 
Vassal to one, whom all my days I serve ; 
The beam of beauty sparkled from above, 
The flower of virtue and pure chastity, 
The blossom of sweet joy and perfect love, 
The pearl of peerless grace and modesty : 



204 GENERAL REMARKS. [chap. ix. 

To her my thoughts I daily dedicate, 

To her my heart I nightly martyrize : 

To her my love I lowly do prostrate, 

To her my life I wholly sacrifice : 

My thought, my heart, my love, my life is she, 

And I hers ever only, ever one : 

One ever I all vowed hers to be, 

One ever I, and others never none." 

Let these lines be read with those from 330 to 
351' of Colin Clouts, as Spenser's picture of a divine 
object, and then let them be compared to the 80th, 
86th, and 105th Sonnets of Shakesj^eare : 

80. " 0, how I faint when I of you do write. 

Knowing a better spirit [that of Spenser ?] doth use 

your name, 
And in the praise thereof spends all his might, 
To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame. 
But since your worth, wide as the ocean is. 
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, 
My saucy bark, inferior far to his. 
On your broad main doth wilfully appear. 
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat. 
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride; 
Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat, 
He of tall building, and of goodly pride: 
Then if he thrive, and I be cast away, 
The worst was this, — my love was my decay." 



CHAP. IX.] GENERAL REMARKS. 205 

That is, his love of truth, goodness, God ; and to 
fall in that service was deemed an honor. 

86. *' Was it the proud full sail of his great verse — 

no doubt referring to Spenser — 

Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you, 

That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inherse, 

Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? 

Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write 

Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? 

No, neither he, nor his compeers by night 

Giving him aid, my verse astonished. 

* * * 

I was not sick of any fear from thence : 

But when your countenance filled up his line. 
Then lack'd I matter ; that enfeebled mine." 

It was not, as we understand this Sonnet, that 
Shakespeare stood in fear of any mortal man, as a 
rival in doing honor to Love ; but when he saw, in 
the lines of Spenser, the evidence of a direct inspira- 
tion from Love itself, by seeing in the poet's lines 
the countenance of Love, then he felt himself 
abashed, or overawed ; not in a spirit of rivalry 
about a mortal being, as many suppose, but because 
he knew that without divine aid, or that direct in- 



206 GENERAL REMARKS. [chap. ix. 

spiration invoked in his own 16th Sonnet, he would 
not be able to approach the perfection of Spenser's 
lines. Yet he even surpassed Spenser in the decla- 
ration of the One^ in the unity of the beautiful, the 
good, and the true, as his 105th Sonnet will show. 

Notwithstanding the unexpected length of these 
remarks, we must notice the fact that most of the 
lovers, whilst pursuing their inquiries, make very 
free accusations of infidelity against their mistresses. 
This only means, in reality, that Nature, accord- 
ing to her ancient name of Proteus, is exceedingly 
difficult to hold in any one position long enough to 
permit examination ; for while the student, after 
much devotion, fancies he has obtained a true view, 
presto! all is changed and nothing appears as it did, 
nothing seems to have been accomplished. 

This character of Nature is perfectly represented 
in the story of The Man of Fifty ^ in the 12th chap- 
ter of Meister's Travels, Carlyle's translation, in 
which the widow represents Nature; the major, 
intellect ; and Hillario, faith. When the young 
intellect, the major's son, acquaints the father with 
the state of the question between himself and the 
widow, and the father intimates doubts calculated 



CHAP. IX. J GENERAL REMARKS. 207 

to calm the enthusiasm of the son, the answer is 
precisely true of Nature : 

" That is just her soft, silent, half-concealing, half-discovering 
way, by which you become certain of your wishes, and yet can 
never altogether get rid of doubt." 

And then the son describes, in transports, the 
beauty of the widow as she walked to and fro 
through the open doors, along the whole suite of 
chambers (or wherever Nature is seen), and adds: 

" If she was beautiful while moving under the blaze of the 
lusters [i. e., in open day], she was infinitely more so when illumin- 
ated by the soft gleam of the lamp," 

(To wit, the conscience), which is described as at the 
end of the hall in a small cabinet (the heart). 

Every page of Meister's Travels is hermetic, and 
as that style of writing is now but little known, it 
might be useful to have, an edition of that wonder- 
ful work just sufficiently annotated to awaken atten- 
tion. 

The editors of the poets seem to attach much 
importance to the sonnets, as illustrating the bio- 
graphies of the writers. This is a grievous mistake, 
if the sonnets are taken literally, as they universally 



208 GENERAL EEMAKKS. [chap. ix. 

are. A shocking consequence appears in the case of 
Shakespeare, under the handling of nearly all of his 
editors, including Hallara himself. 

The inferences from Shakespeare's 144th Sonnet 
are well known, nearly all of the editors accepting 
and relocating them to his disadvantage. Of course, 
we mean to the disadvantage of the reader; for 
Shakespeare is beyond the reach of mistakes with 
regard to himself But the very same inferences 
may be made from Spenser's Sonnets : for example, 
the 10th, in which the poet accuses his lady of 
luxuriating 

" in licentious bliss, 
Of her freewill — " 

calling her a " tyrannesse, rejoicing in the huge 
massacres which her eyes do make," &c. ; and in 
numerous Sonnets similar lano;uao;e is met with. 
Can the reader suppose this was addressed by 
Spenser to a lady whom he sought in marriage ? 
Surely not ; and how would a lady receive a Sonnet 
in which she is compared to a " panther," using the 
arts detailed in the 53d Sonnet, and for the purpose 
therein set forth ? 

It was Nature that Spenser compared to a 



CHAP. IX.] GENERAL REMARKS. 209 

panther, with a beautiful outside^ from the seduc- 
tions of which he cautioned himself, as in the 37th 
he warns himself against being entangled in the 
merely visible, compared to a golden net / and 
again, in the 47th Sonnet, he warns us not to 
trust 

" The treason of those smiling looks," 

in the very same sense ; these " smiling looks " 

being what Shakespeare calls " her pretty looks," 

which he tells us had been " his enemies," Sonnet 
139. 

Notwithstanding this deceptive and crafty out- 
side, the poets saw in Nature all the beauty they 
were capable of conceiving. 

Thus Carew, in the poem addressed to Celia, 
upon Love's ubiquity, says : 

" You are my compass — 

in reality addressing Nature — 

and I never sound 
Beyond your circle ; neither can I show 
Aught but what first expressed is in you," &c. 

And Shakespeare devotes a beautiful Sonnet to 



210 GENERAL REMARKS. [chap, ix. 

the same purpose, making the same acknowledg- 
ment of his entire dependence upon Nature, as seen 
in the spirit : 

" Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, 
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace ; 
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd, 
And my sick muse doth give another place — 

possibly referring to Spenser — 

I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument 
Deserves the travail of a worthier peii ; 
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent, 
He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. 
He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word 
From thy behaviour ; beauty doth he give. 
And found it in thy cheek ; he can afford 
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live. 
Then thank him not for that which he doth say, 
Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay." 

What the poet here calls the cheek of his lady is 
the visible in nature, which, deceitful as it may be, 
furnishes poets with all possible images of beauty. 

There is a poem composed for illustrating the 
Youth of Shakespeare, by the author of a work with 
this title, so exquisitely in keeping with the idea 



CHAP. IX.] GENERAL EEMAEKS. 211 

that his lady-love was Nature, that we transfer it 
entire to these pages, and must then leave the 
reader to his own reflections. The poem is supposed 
to reflect the mind of Shakespeare. 



THE poet's song OF HIS SECRET LOVE. 

1. Upon the dainty grass I lay me down, 

Where tired of labor on my eyelids rest, 
And then such glad solace 1 make my own 

As none can know, for none can be so blessed. 
For then my sweetLag comes so gallantlie, 
I cannot but conceive she loveth me. 

2. I prythee tell me not of such bright fires, 

As bum by day or night in yon fair skies : 
For when I bring her to my chaste desires, 

Sun, moon, and stars are shining in her eyes. 
For then my sweeting so well-favoredlie 
With heaven-like gaze declares she loveth me I 

3. The tender blossoms blush upon their bowers, 

The luscious fruit hangs trembling by the leaf: 
But her rose-tinted cheek out-glows all flowers, 

Her cherry lips of fruits I prize the chief. 
For then my sweeting so delightsomlie 
Doth take her oath upon't she loveth me ! 



212 GENERAL EEMAEKS. [chap. 

4. Alack, what pity 'tis, such moving sight 

Should cheat my heart within an idle dream ! 
'Tis fantasy that brings such loving light — 
The fruit I never taste — but only seem: 
would my sweeting in all honestie 
Vouchsafe to give some sign she loveth me I 



5. I take no pleasure now in pleasant sports, 

I find no profit in books old or new ; 
I hie me where my life's fair queen resorts, 

For she's my pastime and my study too ; 
And of my sweeting say I urgentlie, 
What would I give to know she loveth me ! 

6. Yet though with her my heart so long hath been, 

I know not she takes heed of my behoof ; 
I gaze on her, yet care not to be seen — 

I long to speak, and yet I keep aloof. 
And whilst my sweeting fills my thoughts — perdie ! 
How oft I think — perchance she loveth me. 

7. Where'er I turn methinks I see her face, 

If any lovely thing can there be found ; 
The air I breathe is haunted with her grace. 

And with her looks the flowers peep from the ground. 
I pray my sweeting, very earnestlie. 
She may incline* to say she loveth me. 



CHAP. IX.] GENERAL REMARKS. 213 

8. But when from all fair things I travel far, 

Enwrapt within the shroud of darkest night ; 
She rises through the shadows like a star, 

And with her beauty maketh the place bright.^ 
And of my sweeting breathe I tenderlie, 
Fortune be kind, and prove she loveth me. 

Yes: we must add a few lines from George 
Withers, addressed expressly to his Muse ; and the 
reader is requested, after reading them, to turn to 
the 29th, 30th, and 31st Sonnets of Shakespeare, and 
observe how readily the inference follows that these 
were also addressed to the poet's Muse. 

" She's my mind's companion still, 
Spite of Envy's evil will ; 
She doth tell me where to borrow 
Comfort in the midst of sorrow; 
Makes the desolatest place 
To her presence be a grace ; 
And the blackest discontents 
To be pleasing ornaments. 
In my former days of bliss, 
Her divine skill taught me this — 
That from everything I saw 
I could some invention draw, 

* Vide Shakespeare's Sonnet, 27. 



214 GENERAL REMAEKS. [chap. ix. 

And raise pleasure to her height, 
Through the meanest object's sight ; 
By the murmur of a spring, 
Or the least bough rustleing, — 
By a daisy whose leaves, spread, 
Shut when Titan goes to bed, — 
Or a shady bush or tree, — 
She could more infuse in me 
Than all Nature's beauties can 
In some other wiser man." 



AMOEETTI, 



OR 



SONNETS. 

BY EDM. SPENSER. 



NOTE BY PREVIOUS EDITORS. 

The Amoretti, or Sonnets, describe tlie commencement and progress of 
Spenser's love for the lady ■whom he married, which event is made the 
subject of the EpithaJamion which follows. All we know of her is, that 
her name was Elizabeth, as appears from the seventy-fourth Sonnet. In 
the sixtieth Sonnet, he informs us that he was then forty years old, and 
that a year had passed since the commencement of his passion. These 
Sonnets are interesting, as illustrating the biography of the poet ; and they 
are also remarkable for that purity and delicacy of feeling so characteris- 
tic of Spenser, into the sanctuary of whose mind no coarse or unhandsome 
image ever intruded itself. But their literary merit is not more than re- 
spectable, and in no form of poetical composition is mediocrity less tole- 
rable than the sonnet. They are not free from the cold conceits of his 
age, and their monotonous and languid flow of sentiment is seldom enliv- 
ened by rich poetry, or any unconmion beauty of language. They natu- 
rally provoke a comparison with Shakspeare's Sonnets, to which they are 
greatly inferior. 

[The author of these remarks dissents from the opinion here expressed, 
and refers to his remarks for his reasons.] 



G. W. SENIOR,* 

TO THE AUTHOR. 

Daeke is the day, wlieii Phoebus face is shrouded, 
And weaker sights may wander soone astray : 
But, when they see his glorious rays unclouded, 
"With steddy steps they keep the perfect way : 
So, while this Muse in forraine land doth stay, 
Invention weeps, and pens are cast aside ; 
The time, like night, depriv'd of chearfull day; 
And few do write, but (ah!) too soon may slide 
Then, hie thee home, that art our perfect guide. 
And with thy wit illustrate England's fame, 
Daunting thereby our neighbours ancient pride, 
That do, for Poesie, challenge chiefest name : 
So we that live, and ages that succeed, 
With great applause thy learned works shall read. 



Ah! Colin, whether on the lowly plaine. 
Piping to shepherds thy sweet roundelays; 
Or whether singing, in some lofty vaine, 
Heroicke deeds of past or present days ; 

* *♦ Perhaps George "Whetstone, a poetaster and dramatic writer, in the 
reign of Elizabeth."— Todd. 

10 



218 G. W. SENIOR, TO THE AUTHOR. 

Or whether, in thy lovely Mistresse praise, 

Thou list to exercise thy learned quUl ; 

Thy Muse hath got such grace and power to please, 

With rare invention, beautified by skill, 

As who therein can ever ioy their fill ! 

O ! therefore let that happy Muse proceed 

To clime the height of Vertues sacred hill, 

Where endlesse honour shall be made thy meed : 
Because no malice of succeeding dales 
Can rase those records of thy lasting praise. 

G. W. Jttnb. 



AMORETTI, 

OR 

SONNETS. 



I. 



Happy, ye leaves! when as those lilly hands, 
Which hold my life in their dead-doing might, 
Shall handle you, and hold in loves soft bands, 
Lyke captives trembling at the victors sight. 
And happy lines! on which, with starry light. 
Those lamping eyes wiU deigne sometimes to look. 
And reade the sorrowes of my dying spright, 
"Written with teares in harts close-bleeding book. 
And happy rymes! bathed in the sacred brooke 
Of Helicon, whence she derived is; 
When ye behold that Angels blessed looke, 
My soules long-lacked food, my heavens blis ; 
Leaves, lines, and rymes, seeke her to please alone, 
Whom if ye please, I care for other none ! 

Vide Remarks, pp. 95, 102. 



220 THE AMORETTI. 



II. 

Unquiet thought! whom at the first I bred 
Of th' inward bale of my love-pined hart; 
And sithens' have with sighes and sorrowes fed, 
Till greater than my wombe thou woxen art: 
Breake forth at length out of th' inner part, 
In which thou lurkest lyke to vipers brood ; 
And seeke some succour both to ease my smart, 
And also to sustayne thy selfe with food. 
But, if in presence of that fayrest Proud 
Thou chance to come, fall lowly at her feet ; 
And, with meek humblesse and afflicted mood. 
Pardon for thee, and grace for me, intreat: 

Which if she graunt, then live, and my love cherish 
If not, die soone ; and I with thee will perish. 

* Sithens, since that time. 



THE AMOEETTI. 221 



in. 

The soverayne beauty wMch. I doo admyre, 
Witnesse the world how worthy to be prayzed ! 
The light wherof hath kindled heavenly fyre 
In my fraile spirit, by her from basenesse raysed ; 
That being now with her huge brightnesse dazed/ 
Base thing I can no more endure to view : 
But, looking still on her, I stand amazed 
At wondrous sight of so celestiall hew. 
So when my toung would speak her praises dew, 
It stopped is with thoughts astonishment; 
And, when my pen would write her titles true, 
It ravisht is with fancies wonderment: 
Yet in my hart I then both speak and write 
The wonder that my wit cannot endite. 

* Dazed, dazzled. 



222 THE AMORETTI. 



IV. 



New yeare, forth looking out of lanus gate, 

Doth seeme to promise hope of new delight: 

And, bidding th' old adieu, his passed date 

Bids all old thoughts to die in dumpish^ spright: 

And, calling forth out of sad Winters night 

Fresh Love, that long hath slept in cheerlesse bower, 

"Wils him awake, and soone about him dight 

His wanton wings and darts of deadly power. 

For lusty Spring now in his timely howre 

Is ready to come forth, him to receive : 

And warns the Earth with divers-colord flowre 

To decke hir selfe, and her faire mantle weave. 

Then you, faire flowre ! in whom fresh youth doth raine, 
Prepare your selfe new love to entertaine. 

* Dumpish, moumfal. 



THE AMOEETTI. 223 



V. 



Rudely thou wrongest my deare harts desire, 

In finding fault with her too portly pride : 

The thing which I doo most in her admire, 

Is of the world unworthy most envide : 

For in those lofty lookes is close implide, 

Scorn of base things, and sdeigne of foul dishonor; 

Thretning rash eies which gaze on her so wide, 

That loosely they ne dare to looke upon her. 

Such pride is praise ; such portlinesse is honor ; 

That boldned innocence beares in hir eies; 

And her faire countenance, like a goodly banner, 

Spreds in defiaunce of all enemies. 

Was never in this world ought worthy tride, 
Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride. 



224 THE AMORETTI. 



VI. 



Be nought dismayd that her unmoved mind 
Doth still persist in her rebellious pride: 
Such love, not lyke to lusts of baser kynd, 
The harder wonne, the firmer will abide. 
The durefull oake, whose sap is not yet dride, 
Is long ere it conceive the kindling fyre ; 
But, when it once doth burne, it doth divide 
Great heat, and makes his flames to heaven aspire. 
So hard it is to kindle new desire 
In gentle brest, that shall endure for ever: 
Deepe is the wound, that dints the parts entire 
With chaste affects, that naught but death can sever. 
Then thinke not long in taking little paine 
To knit the knot, that ever shall remaine. 



THE AMOBETTI. 225 



^ 



vn. ^A 

Fayre eyes! the myrrour of my mazed hart, 
What wondrous vertue is contayn'd in you, 
The which both lyfe and death forth from you dart 
Into the obiect of your mighty view? 
For, when ye mildly looke with lovely hew, 
Then is my soule with life and love inspired: 
But when ye lowre, or looke on me askew. 
Then do I die, as one with lightning fyred. 
But, since that lyfe is more then death desyred, 
Looke ever lovely, as becomes you best; 
That your bright beams, of my weak eies admyred, 
May kindle living fire within my brest. 
Such life should be the honor of your light. 
Such death the sad ensample of your might. 



10^ 



226 THE AMORETTI. 



VIII. 

More then most faire, full of the livmg fire, 
Kindled above unto the Maker nere; 
No eies but ioyes, in which al powers conspire, 
That to the world naught else be counted deare. 
Thrugh your bright beams doth not the blinded guest 
Shoot out his darts to base affections wound ; 
But Angels come to lead fraile mindes to rest 
In chast desires, on heavenly beauty bound. 
You frame my thoughts, and fashion me within; 
You stop my toung, and teach my hart to speake; 
You calme the storme that passion did begin. 
Strong thrugh your cause, but by your vertue weak. 

Dark is the world, where your light shined never; 

"Well is he borne, that may behold you ever. 



THE AMOKETTI. 227 



IX. 



Long-while I souglit to what I might compare 

Those powrefull eies, which lighten my dark spright: 

Yet find I nought on earth, to which I dare 

Eesemble th' ymage of their goodly light. 

Not to the Sun ; for they doo shine by night ; 

IsTor to the Moone ; for they are changed never ; 

Nor to the Starres; for they have purer sight; 

Nor to the Fire ; for they consume not ever ; 

Nor to the Lightning; for they still persever; 

Nor to the Diamond ; for they are more tender ; 

Nor unto Cristall ; for nought may them sever ; 

Nor unto Glasse; such basenesse mought offend her. 
Then to the Maker selfe they likest be, 
Whose light doth lighten all that here we see. 

Vide Bemabks, p. 36. 



228 THE AMOEETTI. 



X. 



Unrighteous Lord of love, what law is this, 
That me thou makest thus tormented be, 
The whiles she lordeth in licentious blisse 
Of her freewill, scorning both thee and me? 
See! how the Tyrannesse doth ioy to see 
The hugh massacres which her eyes do make ; 
And humbled harts brings captive unto thee, 
That thou of them mayst mightie vengeance take. 
But her proud hart doe thou a little shake. 
And that high look, with which she doth comptroll 
All this worlds pride, bow to a baser make, 
And al her faults in thy black booke enroll : 
That I may laugh at her in equall sort, 
As she doth laugh at me, and makes my pain her sport. 



THE AMORETTI. 229 



XI. 



Dayly when I do seeke and sew for peace, 

And hostages doe offer for my truth ; 

She, cruell warriour, doth her selfe addresse 

To battell, and the weary war renew'th; 

Ne wilbe moov'd with reason, or with rewth,* 

To graunt small respit to my restlesse toile; 

But greedily her fell intent poursewth, 

Of my poore life to make unpittied spoile. 

Yet my poore life, all sorrowes to assoyle," 

I would her yield, her wrath to pacify: 

But then she seeks, with torment and turmoyle, 

To force me live, and will not let me dy. 

All paine hath end, and every war hath peace; 

But mine, no price nor prayer may surcease. 

» Eewth, jruth, pity. ^ AssoyU, remove. 



230 THE AMORETTI. 



XII. 



One day I sought with her hart-thrilling eies 
To make a truce, and termes to entertaine; 
All fearlesse then of so false enimies, 
Which sought me to entrap in treasons traine. 
So, as I then disarmed did remaine, 
A wicked ambush which lay hidden long, 
In the close covert of her guilful eyen, 
Thence breaking forth, did thick about me throng. 
Too feeble I t' abide the brunt so strong, 
Was forst to yield my selfe into their hands; 
Who, me captiving streight with rigorous wrong, 
Have ever since kept me in crueU bands. 
So, Ladie, now to you I doo complaine, 
Against your eies, that iustice I may gaine. 



THE AMOKETTI. 231 



XIII. 

In that proud port, which her so goodly graceth, 

Whiles her faire face she reares up to the skie, 

And to the ground her eie-lids low embaseth, 

Most goodly temperature ye may descry ; 

Myld humblesse, mixt with awfull maiestie. 

For, looking on the earth whence she was borne, 

Her minde remembreth her mortalitie, 

Whatso is fayrest shall to earth returne. 

But that same lofty countenance seemes to scorne 

Base thing, and thinke how she to heaven may clime; 

Treading downe earth as lothsome and forlorne, 

That hinders heavenly thoughts with drossy slime. 

Yet lowly still vouchsafe to looke on me; 

Such lowlinesse shall make you lofty be. 

Vide Eemabks, p. 118. 



232 THE AMOEETTI. 



XIV. 

Retourne agayne, my forces late dismayd, 

Unto the siege by you abandon'd quite. 

Great shame it is to leave, like one afrayd, 

So fayre a peece/ for one repulse so light. 

'Gaynst such strong castles needeth greater might 

Then those small forts which ye were wont belay : ^ 

Such haughty mynds, enured to hardy fight, 

Disdayne to yield unto the first assay. 

Bring therefore all the forces that ye may, 

And lay incessant battery to her heart ; 

Playnts, prayers, vowes, ruth, sorrow, and dismay ; 

Those engins can the proudest love convert : 

And, if those fayle, fall down and dy before her; 

So dying live, and living to adore her. 

1 Peece, castle. ' Belay, place in ambush. 



THE AMORETTI. 233 



XV. 



Ye tradefull Merchants, that, with weary toyle, 

Do seeke most pretious things to make your gain ; 

And both the Indias of their treasure spoile; 

What needeth you to seeke so farre in vaine? 

For loe, my Love doth in her selfe containe 

All this worlds riches that may farre be found: 

If Saphyres, loe, her eies be Saphyres plaine ; 

If Eubies, loe, hir lips be Eubies sound ; 

If Pearles, hir teeth be Pearles, both pure and round ; 

If Tvorie, her forhead Yvory weene; 

If Gold, her locks are finest Gold on ground; 

If Silver, her faire hands are Silver sheene : ^ 
But that which fairest is, but few behold, 
Her mind adornd with vertues manifold. 

* Sheene, bright. 



234 THE AMORETTI. 



XVI. 

One day as I unwarily did gaze 
On those fayre eyes, my loves immortall light; 
The while st my stonisht hart stood in amaze, 
Through sweet illusion of her lookes delight; 
I mote perceive how, in her glauncing sight, 
Legions of Loves with little wings did fly; 
Darting their deadly arrows, fyry hright, 
At every rash beholder passing by. 
One of those archers closely I did spy, 
Ayming his arrow at my very hart : 
When suddenly, with twincle of her eye. 
The Damzell broke his misintended dart. 

Had she not so doon, sure I had bene slayne; 

Yet as it was, I hardly scap't with paine. 



THE AMORETTI. 235 



XVII. 

The glorious pourtraict of that Angels face, 
Made to amaze weake mens confused skil, 
And this worlds worthlesse glory to embase, 
What pen, what pencill, can expresse her fill? 
For though he colours could devise at will, 
And eke his learned hand at pleasure guide, 
Least, trembling, it his workmanship should spill ;^ 
Yet many wondrous things there are beside: 
The sweet eye-glaunces, that like arrowes glide; 
The charming smiles, that rob sence from the hart; 
The lovely pleasance ; and the lofty pride ; 
Cannot expressed be by any art. 
A greater oraftesmans hand thereto doth neede, 
That can expresse the life of things indeed. 

^ Spill, spoil. 



236 THE AMOEETTI. 



XVIII. 

The rolling wheele that runneth often round, 
The hardest Steele, in tract of time doth teare: 
And drizling drops, that often doe redound, 
The firmest flint doth in continuance weare: 
Yet cannot I, with, many a drooping teare 
And long intreaty, soften her hard hart; 
That she will once vouchsafe my plaint to heare. 
Or looke with pitty on my payneful smart. 
But, when I pleade, she bids me play my part; 
And, when I weep, she sayes, Teares are but water; 
And, when I sigh, she sayes, I know the art ; 
And, when I waile, she turnes hir selfe to laughter. 
So do I weepe, and wayle, and pleade in vaine, 
Whiles she as Steele and flint doth still remayne. 



THE AMORETTI. 237 



XIX. 

The merry Cuckow, messenger of Spring, 
His trompet shrill hath thrise already sounded, 
That warnes al Lovers wayte upon their king, 
Who now is coming forth with girlond crouned. 
With noyse whereof the quyre of Byrds resounded 
Their anthemes sweet, devized of loves prayse, 
That all the woods theyr ecchoes hack rebounded, 
As if they knew the meaning of their layes. 
But mongst them all, which did Loves honor rayse, 
No word was heard of her that most it ought; 
But she his precept proudly disobayes, 
And doth his ydle message set at nought. 
Therefore, Love, unlesse she turne to thee 
Ere Ouckow end, let her a rebell be! 



238 THE AMOKETTI. 



In vadne I seeke and sew to her for grace, 
And doe myne humbled hart before her poure; 
The whiles her foot she in my necke doth place, 
And tread my life downe in the lowly floure.^ 
And yet the lyon that is lord of power, 
And reigneth over every beast in field, 
In his most pride disdeigneth to devoure 
The silly lambe that to his might doth yield. 
But she, more crueU, and more salvage wylde, 
Than either lyon, or the lyonesse. 
Shames not to be with guiltlesse bloud defy Ida, 
But taketh glory in her cruelnesse. 
Fayrer then fayrest ! let none ever say, 
That ye were blooded in a yeelded pray. 

^ Flourcy floor, ground. 



THE AMORETTI. 239 



XXI. 

Was it the worke of Nature or of Art, 

"Whicli tempred so the feature of her face, 

That pride and meeknesse, mixt by equall part, 

Doe both appeare t' adorne her beauties grace? 

For with mild pleasance, which doth pride displace, 

She to her love doth lookers eyes allure ; 

And, with stern countenance, back again doth chace 

Their looser lookes that stir up lustes impure ; 

"With such strange termes her eyes she doth inure, 

That, with one looke, she doth my life dismay ; 

And with another doth it streight recure ; 

Her smile me drawes ; her frowne me drives away. 

Thus doth she traine and teach me with her lookes ; 

Such art of eyes I never read in bookes I 



240 THE AMOEETTI. 



XXII. 

This holy season, fit to fast and pray, 
Men to devotion ought to be inclyned: 
Therefore, I likewise, on so holy day, 
For my sweet Saynt some service fit will find. 
Her temple fayre is built within my mind. 
In which her glorious ymage placed is ; 
On which my thoughts doo day and night attend, 
Lyke sacred Priests that never thinke amisse ; 
There I to her, as th' author of my blisse. 
Will builde an altar to appease her yre; 
And on the same my hart will sacrifise. 
Burning in flames of pure and chaste desyre: 
The which vouchsafe, O Goddesse, to accept, 
Amongst thy deerest relicks to be kept. 



THE AMORETTI. 241 



XXIII. 

Penelope, for her Ulisses sake, ;_^. 

Deviz'd a Web her wooers to deceave ; 
In which the worke that she all day did make, 
The same at night she did againe unreave : 
Such subtile craft my Damzell doth conceave, 
Th' importune suit of my desire to shonne : 
For all that I in many dayes do weave. 
In one short houre I find by her undonne. 
So, when I thinke to end that I begonne, 
I must begin and never bring to end : 
For, with one looke, she spils ^ that long I sponne ; 
And, with one word, my whole years work doth rend. 
Such labour like the spyders web I fynd. 
Whose fruitlesse worke is broken with least wynd. 

* Spils, spoils. 



11 



242 THE AMOEETTI. 



XXIV. 

Wiien I behold that beauties wonderment, 
And rare perfection of each, goodly part; 
Of Natures skill the onely complement ; 
I honor and admire the Makers art. 
But when I feele the bitter balefull smart, 
Which her fayre eyes unwares doe worke in mee, 
That death out of theyr shiny beames doe dart ; 
I thinke that I a new Pandora see, 
Whom all the gods in councell did agree 
Into this sinfull world from heaven to send; 
That she to wicked men a scourge should bee, 
For all their faults with which they did offend. 
But, since ye are my scourge, I will intreat. 
That for my faults ye will me gently beat. 



THE AMOKETTI. 243 



xxy. 

How long shall this lyke dying lyfe endure, 
And know no end of her owne mysery, 
But wast and weare away in termes unsure, 
'Twixt feare and hope depending doubtfully 1 
Yet better were attonce to let me die. 
And shew the last ensample of your pride ; 
Then to torment me thus with cruelty, 
To prove your powre, which I too wel have tride. 
But yet if in your hardned brest ye hide 
A close intent at last to shew me grace; 
Then all the woes and wrecks, which I abide, 
As meanes of blisse I gladly wil embrace; 
And wish that more and greater they might be, 
That greater meede at last may ti^rne to mee. 



244 THE AMORETTI. 



XXVI. 

Sweet is the Kose, but growes upon a brere ; 

Sweet is the lunipeer, but sharpe his bough ; 

Sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh nere ; 

Sweet is the Firbloome, but his braunches rough ; 

Sweet is the Oypresse, but his rynd is rough; 

Sweet is the Nut, but bitter is his pill; 

Sweet is the Broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough; 

And sweet is Moly, but his root is ill. 

So every sweet with soure is tempred still, 

That maketh it be coveted the more : 

For easie things, that may be got at will. 

Most sorts of men doe set but little store. 
"Why then should I accompt of little paine, 
That endlesse pleasure shall unto me gaine! 



THE AMOEETTI. 245 



xxvn. 

Faire Proud ! now tell me, wliy should faire be proud, 

Sith ^ all worlds glorie is but drosse uncleane, 

And in the shade of death it selfe shall shroud, 

However now thereof ye little weene ! 

That goodly Idoll, now so gay beseene, 

Shall doffe^ her fleshes borrowd fayre attyre; 

And be forgot as it had never beene ; 

That many now much worship and admire! 

Ne any then shall after it inquire, 

Ne any mention shall thereof remaine, 

But what this verse, that never shall expyre, 

Shall to you purchas with her thankles pain ! 

Faire ! be no lenger proud of that shall perish ; 

But that, which shall you make immortall, cherish 

1 Sith, since. « Doffe, put off. 



246 THE AMORETTI. 



xxvin. 

The laurel-leafe, which you this day doe weare, 

Gives me great hope of your relenting mynd: 

For since it is the badge which I doe beare, 

Ye, bearing it, doe seeme to me inclind: 

The powre thereof, which ofte in me I find, 

Let it lykewise your gentle brest inspire 

With sweet infusion, and put you in mind 

Of that proud Mayd, whom now those leaves attyre: 

Proud Daphne, scorning Phoebus lovely fyre, 

On the Thessalian shore from him did flie: 

For which the gods, in theyr revengefull yre. 

Did her transforme into a Laurell-tree. 

Then fly no more, fayre Love, from Phebus chace, 
But in your brest his leafe and love embrace. 



THE AMOKETTI. 247 



XXIX. 

See! how the stubborne Damzell doth deprave 
Mj" simple meaning with disdaynfull scorne; 
And by the bay, which I uato her gave, 
Accoumpts my self her captive quite forlorne. 
The bay, quoth she, is of the victours born. 
Yielded them by the vanquisht as theyr meeds, 
And they therewith doe Poetes heads adorne, 
To sing the glory of their famous deeds. 
But sith^ she will the conquest challeng needs, 
Let her accept me as her faithfull thrall; 
That her great triumph, which my skill exceeds, 
I may in trump of fame blaze over all. 

Then would I decke her head with glorious bayes, 
And fill the world with her victorious prayse. 

^ Sith, Brace. 



248 THE AMORETTI. 



XXX. 

My Love is lyke to yse, and I to fyre ; 
How comes it then that this her cold so great 
Is not dissolv'd through my so hot desyre, 
But harder growes the more I her intreat! 
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat 
Is not delayd^ by her hart-frosen cold ; 
But that I burne much more in boyling sweat, 
And feele my flames augmented manifold! 
What more miraculous thing may be told, 
That fire, which all things melts, should harden yse^ 
And yse, which is congeald with sencelesse cold, 
Should kindle fyre by wonderful devyse ! 
Such is the powre of love in gentle mind. 
That it can alter aU the course of kynd. 

^ Delayd, tempered. 



THE AMORETTI. 249 



XXXI. 

Ah ! why hath Nature to so hard a hart 
Given so goodly giftes of beauties grace ! 
Whose pryde depraves each other better part, 
And all those pretious ornnments deface. 
Sith ^ to all other beastes, of bloody race, ' 
A dreadfull countenance she given hath ; 
That with theyr terrour all the rest may chace, 
And warne to shun the daunger of theyr wrath. 
But my proud one doth worke the greater scath,"-* 
Through sweet allurement of her lovely hew ; 
That she the better may, in bloody bath 
Of such poore thralls, her cruell hands embrew. 
But, did she know how ill these two accord, 
Such cruelty she would have soone abhord. 

1 Sith, since. ' Scath, injury. 



ir 



250 THK AMORETTI. 



XXXII. 

The payrefull smith, with force of fervent heat, 
The hardest yron soone doth mollify ; 
That with his heavy sledge he can it beat, 
And fashion to what he it list apply. 
Yet cannot all these flames, in which I fry, 
Her hart more hard then yron soft a whit ; 
Ne all the playnts and prayers, with which I 
Doe beat on th' andvile of her stubberne wit; 
But still, the more she fervent sees my fit, 
The more she frieseth in her wilfull pryde ; 
And harder growes, the harder she is smit 
With all the playnts which to her be applyde. 
What then remaines but I to ashes bnrne, 
And she to stones at length all frosen turne ! 



THE AMOEETTI. 251 



xxxm. 

Great wrong I doe, I can it not deny, 
To that most sacred Empresse, my dear dred, 
Not finishing her Queene of Faery, 
That mote enlarge her living prayses, dead : 
But Lodwick, this of grace to me aread ; ^ 
Do ye not thinck th' accomplishment of it, 
Sufiicient worke for one* mans simple head, 
All were it, as the rest, but rudely writ? 
How then should I, without another wit, 
Thinck ever to endure so tedious toyle! 
S'lth."^ that this one is tost with troublous fit 
Of a proud Love, that doth my spirite spoyle. 

Cease then, till she vouchsafe to grawnt me rest; 

Or lend you me another living brest. 

1 Aread, explain. ' Sith, since- 

XXXIII. 5.—Lodwick.'i Lodowick Bryskett, a Mend of Spenser and 
himself a poet. 



252 THE AMORETTI. 



XXXIV. 

Lyke as a ship, that through the ocean wyde, 
By conduct of some star, doth make her way; 
Whenas a storm hath dimd her trusty guyde, 
Out of her course doth wander far astray! 
go I, whose star, that wont with her bright ray 
Me to direct, with cloudes is over-cast. 
Doe wander now, in darknesse land dismay, 
Through hidden perils round about me plast; 
Yet hope I well that, when this storme is past, 
My Helice, the lodestar of my lyfe, 
Will shine again, and looke on me at last, 
"With lovely light to cleare my cloudy grief. 
Till then I wander carefull, comfortlesse. 
In secret sorrow, and sad pensivenesse. 



THE AMOEETTI. 253 



XXXV. 

My hungry eyes, through greedy covetize , 

Still to behold the obiect of their paine, 
With no contentment can themselves suffize ; 
But, having, pine; and, having not, complaine. 
For, lacking it, they cannot lyfe sustayne ; 
And, having it, they gaze on it the more ; 
In their amazement lyke Narcissus vaine. 
Whose eyes him starv'd: so plenty makes me poore. 
Yet are mine eyes so filled with the store 
Of that faire sight, that nothing else they brooke, 
But lothe the things which they did like before, 
And can no more endure on them to looke. 
All this worlds glory seemeth vayne to me, 
And all their showes but shadowes, saving she. 



264 THE AMORETTI. 



XXXVI. 

Tell me, ^when shall these wearie woes have end, 
Or shall their ruthlesse torment never cease ; 
But al mj days in pining languor spend. 
Without hope of asswagement or release? 
Is there no meanes for me to purchase peace, 
Or make agreement with her thrilling eyes ; 
But that their cruelty doth still increace, 
And dayly more augment my miseryes? 
But, when ye have shew'd all extremityes, 
Then think how little glory ye have gayned 
By slaying him, whose lyfe, though ye despyse. 
Mote have your life in honor long maintayned. 
But by his death, which some perhaps will mone, 
Ye shall condemned be of many a one. 



THE AMORETTI. 255 



XXXVII. 

What guyle is this, that those her golden tresses 
She doth attyre under a net of gold; 
And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses. 
That which is gold, or haire, may scarse be told? 
Is it that mens fraile eyes, which gaze too bold, 
She may entangle in that golden snare; 
And, being caught, may craftily enfold 
Their weaker harts, which are not wel aware ? 
Take heed therefore, myne eyes, how ye doe stare 
Henceforth too rashly on that guilefall net, 
In which if ever ye entrapped are. 
Out of her bands ye by no meanes shall get. 
Fondnesse ^ it were for any, being free, 
To covet fetters though they golden bee, 

^ Fondnesse, folly. 



256 THE AMORETTI. 



XXXVIII. 

Arion, when, through tempests cruel wracke, 
He forth was thrown into the greedy seas; 
Through the sweet musick, which his harp did make, 
Allur'd a dolphin him from death to ease. 
But my rude musick, which was wont to please 
Some dainty eares, cannot, with any skill. 
The dreadfull tempest of her wrath appease, 
Nor move the dolphin from her stuhhorn will ; 
But in her pride she dooth persever still, 
All carelesse how my life for her decayes : 
Yet with one word she can it save or spill. 
To spill were pitty, but to save were prayse I 
Chuse rather to be praysd for doing good. 
Then to be blam'd for spilling guUtlesse blood. 



THE AMORETTI. 257 



XXXIX. 

Sweet smile ! the daughter of the Queene of Love, 
Expressing all thy mothers powrefull art, 
With which she wonts to temper angry love, 
"When all the gods he threats with thundring dart: 
Sweet is thy vertue, as thy selfe sweet art. 
For, when on me thou shinedst late in sadnesse, 
A melting pleasance ran through every part, 
And me revived with hart-robbing gladnesse. 
Whylest rapt with ioy resembling heavenly madness, 
My soule was ravisht quite as in a traunce ; 
And, feeling thence no more her sorrowes sadnesse, 
Fed on the fulnesse of that chearfuU glaunce. 
More sweet than nectar, or ambrosiall meat, 
Seem'd every bit which thenceforth I did eat. 



258 THE AMOEEin. 



XL. 



Mark when she smiles with amiable cheare, 
And tell me whereto can ye Ijken it ; 
"When on each eyelid sweetly doe appeare 
An hundred Graces as in shade to sit. 
Lykest it seemeth, in my simple wit, 
Unto the fayre sunshine in somers day ; 
That, when a dreadfull storme away is flit, 
Thrugh the broad world doth spred his goodly ray; 
At sight whereof, each bird that sits on spray, 
And every beast that to his den was fled, 
Comes forth afresh out of their late dismay, 
And to the light lift up their drouping hed. 
So my storme-beaten hart likewise is cheared 
With that sunshine, when cloudy looks are cleared. 



THE AMOEETTI. 269 



XLI. 

Is it her nature, or is it her will, 
To be so cruell to an humbled foe? 
If nature ; then she may it mend with skill : 
If wUl ; then she at will may will forgoe. 
But if her nature and her will be so, 
That she will plague the man that loves her most, 
And take delight t' encrease a wretches woe; 
Then all her natures goodly guifts are lost: 
And that same glorious beauties ydle boast 
Is but a bayt such wretches to beguile. 
As, being long in her loves tempest tost. 
She meanes at last to make her pitious spoyle. 
O fayrest fayre! let never it be named, 
That so fayre beauty was so fowly shamed. 



260 THE AMORETTI. 



XLII. 

The love, which me so cruelly torraenteth, 
So pleasing is in my extreamest paine, 
That, all the more my sorrow it augmenteth, 
The more I love and doe embrace my bane. 
Ne do I wish (for wishing were but vaine) 
To be acquit fro my continual smart ; 
But ioy, her thrall for ever to remayne, 
And yield for pledge my poor and captyved hart ; 
The which, that it from her may never start, 
Let her, yf please her, bynd with adamant chayne, 
And from all wandring loves, which mote pervart 
His safe assurance, strongly it restrayne. 
Onely let her abstaine from cruelty. 
And doe me not before my time to dy. 



THE AMORETTI. 261 



XLin. 

Shall I then silent be, or shall I speake? 

And, if I speake, her wrath renew I shall; 

And, if I silent be, my hart will breake, 

Or choked be with overflowing gall. 

What tyranny is this, both my hart to thrall, 

And eke my toung with proud restraint to tie ; 

That neither I may speake nor thinke at all, 

But like a stupid stock in silence die ! 

Yet I my hart with silence secretly 
^ "Will teach to speak, and my just cause to plead ; 

And eke mine eies, with meek humility. 

Love-learned letters to her eyes to read; 

Which her deep wit, that true harts thought can spel, 
Wil soon conceive, and learne to construe well. 



\ 



Vide Remaeks, p. 112. 



262 THE AMOKETTI. 



XLIV. 

"When those renoumed noble Peres of Greece, 
Through stubborn pride, among themselves did iar, 
Forgetfull of the famous golden fleece; 
Then Orpheus with his harp thejr strife did bar. 
But this continuall, cruell, civill warre, 
The which my selfe against my selfe doe make ; 
Whilest my weak powres of passions warreid arre; 
No skill can stint, nor reason can aslake. 
But, when in hand my tunelesse harp I take, 
Then doe I more augment ray foes despight; 
And griefe renew, and passions doe awake 
To battaile, fresh against my selfe to fight. 
Mongst whome the more I seeke to settle peace, 
The more I fynd their malice to increace. 



THE AMORETTI. 263 



XLV. 

Leave, Lady! in your glasse of cristall clene, 
Your goodly selfe for evermore to vew : 
And in my selfe, my inward selfe, I meane, 
Most lively lyke behold your semblant trew. 
Within my hart, though hardly it can shew 
Thing so divine to vew of earthly eye, 
The fayre idea of your celestiall hew 
And every part remaines immortally: 
And were it not that, through your cruelty, 
"With sorrow dimmed and deform'd it were, 
The goodly ymage of your visnomy ^, 
Clearer than cristall, would therein appere. 

But, if your selfe in me ye playne will see, [be. 

Remove the cause by which your fayre beames darkned 

Vide Bemabes, p. 127. 
* Visnomy, countenance. 



264 THE AMOKETTI. 



XLVI. 

When my abodes prefixed time is spent, 
My cruell fayre streight bids me wend my way: 
But then from heaven most hideous stormes are sent, 
As willing me against her will to stay. 
Whom then shall I, or heaven or her, obay? 
The heavens -know best what is the best for me : 
But as she will, whose will my life doth sway, 
My lower heaven, so it perforce must be. 
But ye high lievens, that all this sorowe see, 
Sith ^ all your tempests cannot hold me backe, 
Aswage your storms; or else both you, and she, 
Will both together me too sorely wrack. 
Enough it is for one man to sustaine 
The stormes, which she alone on me doth raine. 

Vide. Beuakks, p, 134. 
' Sith, since. 



THE AMORETTI. 265 



XL VII. 

Trust not the treason of those smyling lookes, 
Untill ye have their guylefull traynes well tryde : 
For they are lyke but unto golden hookes, 
That from the foolish fish theyr bayts do hyde : 
So she with flattring smyles weake harts doth guyde 
Unto her love, and tempte to theyr deca^^ ; 
Whome, being caught, she kills with cruell pryde, 
And feeds at pleasure on the wretched pray : 
Yet, even whylst her bloody hands them slay, 
Her eyes looke lovely, and upon them smyle ; 
That they take pleasure in their cruell play, 
And, dying, doe themselves of payne beguyle. 

O mighty charm ! which makes men love theyr bane, 
And thinck they dy with pleasure, live with payne. 

Vide Remabks, p. 123. 



12 



266 THE AMORETTI. 



XL VIII. 

Innocent paper! whom too cruell hand 
Did make the matter to avenge her yre ; 
And, ere she could thy cause well understand, 
Did sacrifize unto the greedy fyre, 
"Well worthy thou to have found better hyre, 
Then so bad end for hereticks ordayned; 
Yet heresy nor treason didst conspire, 
But plead thy Maisters cause, unjustly payned. 
Whom she, all carelesse of his grief, constrayned 
To utter forth the anguish of his hart : 
And would not heare, when he to her complayned 
The piteous passion of his dying smart. 
Yet live for ever, though against her will. 
And speake her good, though she requite it ill. 



THE AMORETTI. 267 



XUX. 

Fayre Cruell! why are ye so fierce and cruell? 
Is il because your eyes have powre to kill? 
Then know that mercy is the Mighties iewell ; 
And greater glory think to save then spill. 
But if it be your pleasure, and proud will, 
To shew the powre of your imperious eyes; 
Then not on him that never thought you ill, 
But bend your force against your enemyes ; 
Let them feel the utmost of your crueltyes; 
And kill with looks, as cockatrices do : 
But him, that at your footstoole humbled lies, 
With mercifuU regard give mercy to. 

Such mercy shall you make admyr'^d to be ; 

So shall you live, by giving life to me. 



268 THE AMOEETTI. 



L. 



Long languishing in double malady 

Of my harts wound, and of my bodies griefe ; 

There came to me a Leach, that would apply 

Fit medcines for my bodies best reliefe. 

Yayne man, quoth I, that hast but little priefe ^ 

In deep discovery of he mynds disease ; 

Is not the hart of all the body chiefe, 

And rules the members as itselfe doth please? 

Then, with some cordialls, seeke for to appease 

The inward languor of my wounded hart; 

And then my body shall have shortly ease : 

But such sweet cordialls passe Physicians art. 

Then, my lyfes Leach ! doe you your skill reveale ; 

And, with one salve, both hart and body heale. 

* Prieft, proof, skill. 



THE AMOEETTI. 269 



LI. 

Doe I not see that fayrest ymages 

Of hardest marble are of purpose made, 

For that they should endure through many ages, 

Ne let theyr famous moniments to fade? 

Why then do I, untrainde in Lovers trade. 

Her hardnes blame, which I should more commend? 

Sith^, never ought was excellent assayde 

Which was not hard t' atchive and bring to end. 

Ne ought so hard, but he, that would attend. 

Mote soften it and to his will allure: 

So do I hope her stubborne hart to bend. 

And that it then more stedfast will endure. 

Only my paines wil be the more to get her; 

But, having her, my ioy wil be the greater. 

* SUh, since. 



270 THE AMORETTI. 



LII. 



So oft as homeward. I from her depart, 
I go lyke one that, having lost the field, 
Is prisoner led away with heavy hart, 
Despoyld of warlike armes and knowen shield. 
So doe I now my self a prisoner yield 
To sorrow and to solitary paine; 
From presence of my dearest deare exylde, 
Long-while alone in languor to remaine. 
There let no thought of ioy, or pleasure vaine, 
Dare to approch, that may my solace breed; 
But sudden dumps,^ and drery sad disdayne 
Of all worlds gladnesse, more my torment feed. 
So I her absens will my penaunce make. 
That of her presens I my meed may take. 

* Dumps, lamentations. 



THE AMORETTI. 271 



LIII. 

The panther, knowing that his spotted hyde 
Doth please all beasts, but that his looks them fray; 
"Within a bush his dreadful head doth hide, 
To let them gaze, whylst he on them may pray: 
Right so my cruell fayre with me doth play ; 
For, with the goodly semblance of her hew, 
She doth allure me to mine owne decay, 
And then no mercy will unto me shew. 
Great shame it is, thing so divine in view. 
Made for to be the worlds most ornament, 
To make the bayte her gazers to embrew : 
Good shames to be to ill an instrument! 
But mercy doth with beautie best agree, 
As in theyr Maker ye them best may see. 

Vide Kemabks, p. 122. 
' Frayt terrify. 



272 THE AMOREITI. 



LIV. 



Of this worlds Theatre in which we stay, 
My Love, like the Spectator, ydly sits ; 
Beholding me, that all the Pageants play, 
Disguysing diversly my troubled wits. 
Sometimes I ioy when glad occasion fits, 
And mask in myrth lyke to a Comedy : 
Soone after, when ray ioy to sorrow flits, 
I waile, and make my woes a Tragedy. 
Yet she, beholding me with constant eye. 
Delights not in my merth, nor rues my smart: 
But, when I laugh, she mocks; and, when I cry, 
She laughs, and hardens evermore her hart. 

"What then can move her? if nor merth, nor mone, 
She is no woman, but a sencelesse stone. 



THE AMORETTI. 273 



LV. 



So oft as I her beauty doe behold, 

And therewith doe her cruelty compare, 

I marvaile of what substance was the mould. 

The which her made attonce so cruell faire. 

Not earth ; for her high thoughts more heavenly are 

Not water ; for her love doth burne like fyre : 

Not ayre ; for she is not so light or rare : 

Not fyre ; for she doth friese with faint desire. 

Then needs another Element inquire 

Whereof she mote be made ; that is, the skye. 

For, to the heaven her haughty looks aspire ; 

And eke her love is pure immortall hye. 

Then, sith to heaven ye lykened are the best, 

Be lyke in mercy as in all the rest. 

Fide' Behabks, p. 121. 



12* 



274 THE AMOEETTI. 



LVI. 

Fayre ye be sure, but cruell and unkind, 
As is a tygre, that with greedinesse 
Hunts after bloud; when he by chance doth find 
A feeble beast, doth felly him oppresse. 
Fayre be ye sure, but proud and pitilesse. 
As is a storme, that all things doth prostrate; 
Finding a tree alone all comfortlesse. 
Beats on it strongly, it to ruinate. 
Fayre be ye sure, but hard and obstinate, 
As is a rocke amidst the raging floods ; 
Gaynst which, a ship, of succour desolate, 
Doth suffer wreck both of her selfe and goods. 
That ship, that tree, and that same beast, am I, 
Whom ye doe wreck, doe mine, and destroy. 



THE AMORETTI. 275 



LVIL 

Sweet warriour! when shall I have peace with you? 
High time it is this warre now ended were; 
Which I no lenger can endure to sue, 
Ne your incessant battry more to beare: 
So weake my powres, so sore my wounds, appear, 
That wonder is how I should live a iot. 
Seeing my hart through- launced every where 
With thousand arrowes, which your eies have shot: 
Yet shoot ye sharpely still, and spare me not, 
But glory thinke to make these cruel stoures.^ 
Ye cruell one! what glory can be got. 
In slaying him that would live gladly yours ! 
Make peace therefore, and graunt me timely grace, 
That al my wounds will heale in little space. 

StoureSf assaults. 



276 THE AMORETTI. 



LVIII. 

By her that is most assured to her selfe. 
Weake is th' assurance that weake flesh reposeth 
In her own powre, and scorneth others ayde; 
That soonest fals, when as she most supposeth 
Her selfe assur'd, and is of nought affray d. 
All flesh is frayle, and all her strength unstayd, 
Like a vaine bubble blowen up with ayre : 
Devouring tyme and changeful chance have prayd, 
Her glorious pride that none may it repayre. 
Ne none so rich or wise, so strong or fay re, 
But fayleth, trusting on his owne assurance : 
And he, that standeth on the hyghest stayre, 
Fals lowest: for on earth nought hath endurance. 
Why then doe ye, proud fayre, misdeeme so farre, 
That to your selfe ye most assured arre! 



THE AMOKETTI. 277 



LIX. 

Thrise happie she I that is so well assured 
Unto her selfe, and setled so in hart, 
That neither will for better be allured, 
Ne feard with worse to any chaunce to start; 
But, like a steddj ship, doth strongly part 
The raging waves, and keepes her course aright; 
Ne ought for tempest doth from it depart, 
Ne ought for fayrer weathers false delight. 
Such selfe-assurance need not feare the spight 
Of grudging foes, ne favour seek of friends: 
But, in the stay of her owne stedfast might, 
Neither to one her selfe nor other bends. 

Most happy she, that most assur'd doth rest; 

But he most happy, who such one loves best. 



278 THE AMORETTI. 



LX. 



They, that in course of heavenly spheares are skild, 
To every planet point his sundry yeare: 
In which her circles voyage is fulfild, 
As Mars in threescore yeares doth run his spheare. 
So, since the winged god his planet cleare 
Began in me to move, one yeare is spent : 
The which doth longer unto me appeare, 
Then al those fourty which my life out-went. 
Then by that count, which lovers books invent, 
The spheare of Cupid fourty yeares containes: 
Which I have wasted in long languishment, 
That seem'd the longer for my greater paines. 
But let my Loves fayre planet short her wayes, 
This yeare ensuing, or else short my dayes. 



THE AMOREITI. 279 



LXI. 

The glorious image of the Makers beautie, 
My soverayne saynt, the idoll of my thought, 
Dare not henceforth, above the bounds of dewtie, 
T' accuse of pride, or rashly blame for ought. 
For being, as she is, divinely wrought. 
And of the brood of Angels heavenly born ; 
And with the crew of blessed saynts upbrought, 
Each of which did her with theyr guifts adorne ; 
The bud of ioy, the blossome of the morne. 
The beame of light, whom mortal eyes admyre ; 
What reason is it then but she should scorne 
Base things, that to her love too bold aspire! 
Such heavenly formes ought rather worshipt be, 
Then dare be lov'd by men of meane degree. 

Vide Remarks, p. 125. 



280 THE AMORETTI. 



LXII. 

The weary yeare his race now having run, 

The new begins his compast course anew : 

With shew of morning mylde he hath begun, 

Betokening peace and plenty to ensew. 

So let us, which this chaunge of weather vew, 

Chaunge eke our mynds, and former lives amend ; 

The old yeares sinnes forepast let us eschew, 

And fly the faults with which we did offend. 

Then shall the new yeares ioy forth freshly send, 

Into the glooming world, his gladsome ray: 

And all these stormes, which now his beauty blend,^ 

Shall turne to calmes, and tymely cleare away. 

So, likewise, Love ! cheare you your heavy spright, 
And chaunge old yeares annoy to new delight. 

* Blend, blemish. 



THE AMORETTI. 281 



LXIII. 

After long stormes and tempests sad assay, 

Which hardly I endured heretofore, 

In dread of death, and daungerous dismay, 

With which ray silly bark was tossed sore; 

I doe at length descry the happy shore. 

In which I hope ere long for to arryve: 

Fayre soyle it seemes from far, and fraught with store 

Of all that deare and daynty is alyve. 

Most happy he! that can at last atchyve 

The ioyous safety of so sweet a rest ; 

Whose least delight sufficeth to deprive 

Remembrance of all paines which him opprest. 

All paines are nothing in respect of this ; 

All sorrowes short that gaine eternall blisse. 

Vide Kemabes, p. 120. 



282 THE AMOEETTI. 



LXIV. 

Oomraing to kisse her lyps, (such grace I found,) 
Me seemd, I smelt a gardin of sweet flowres, 
That dainty odours from them threw around, 
For damzels fit to decke their lovers bowres. 
Her lips did smell lyke unto gillyflowers; 
Her ruddy cheekes, like unto roses red ; 
Her snowy browes, lyke budded bellamoures; 
Her lovely eyes, lyke pincks but newly spred ; 
Her goodly bosome, lyke a strawberry bed; 
Her neck, lyke to a bounch of cullambynes ; 
Her brest, lyke lillyes, ere their leaves be shed; 
Her nipples, lyke young blossomd jessemynes: 

Such fragrant flowres doe give most odorous smell ; 

But her sweet odour did them all excell. 

Vide Bemabks, p. 120. 



THE AMORETTI. 283 



LXV. 

The doubt whicli ye misdeeme, fayre Love, is vaine, 
That fondly feare to lose your liberty ; 
When, losing one, two liberties ye gayne. 
And make him bond that bondage earst ^ did fly. 
Sweet be the bands, the which true love doth tye 
"Without constraynt, or dread of any ill : 
The gentle birde feeles no captivity 
Within her cage; but sings, and feeds her fill. 
There pride dare not approch, nor discord spill 
The league twixt them, that loyal love hath bound: 
But simple Truth, and mutual Good-will, 
Seeks, with sweet peace, to salve each others wound 
There Fayth doth fearless dwell in brazen towre, 
And spotlesse Pleasure builds her sacred bowre. 

* Earst, before. 



284 THE AMORETTI. 



LXVI. 

To all those happy blessings, which ye have 
With plenteous hand by heaven upon you thrown ; 
This one disparagement they to you gave, 
That ye your love lent to so meane a one. 
Ye, whose high worths surpassing paragon 
Could not on earth have found one fit for mate, 
Ne but in heaven matchable to none, 
"Why did ye stoup unto so lowly state? 
But ye thereby much greater glory gate, 
Then had ye sorted with a Princes pere : 
For, now your light doth more it selfe dilate, 
And, in my darknesse, greater doth appeare. 
Yet, since your light hath once enlumind me, 
"With my reflex yours shall encreased be. 



THE AMOEETTI. 285 



LXVII. 

Lyke as a huntsman after weary chace, 
Seeing the game from him escapt away, 
Sits downe to rest him in some shady place, 
"With panting hounds beguiled of their pray: 
So, after long pursuit and vaine assay. 
When I all weary had the chace forsooke. 
The gentle deer returnd the selfe-same way, 
Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brooke: 
There she, beholding me with mylder looke, 
Sought not to fly, but fearlesse still did bide ; 
Till I in hand her yet halfe trembling tooke. 
And with her owne goodwill her fyrmely tyde. 
Strange thing, me seemd, to see a beast so wyld, 
So goodly wonne, with her owne will beguyld. 



286 THE AMORETTI. 



LXVIII. 

Most glorious Lord of lyfe ! that, on this day, 
Didst make thy triumph over death and sin ; 
And, having harrowd^ hell, didst hring away 
Captivity thence captive, us to win : 
This ioyous day, dear Lord, with ioy hegin ; 
And grant that we, for whom thou diddest dy, 
Being with thy deare blood clene washt from sin, 
May live for ever in felicity ! 
And that thy love we weighing worthily, 
May likewise love thee for the same againe ; 
And for thy sake, that all lyke deare didst buy, 
With love may one another entertayne! 

So let us love, deare Love, lyke as we ought: 
Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught. 

* Harrotod, subdued. 



THE AMOKETTI. 287 



LXIX. 

The famous warriours of the anticke world 
Us'd trophees to erect in stately wize; 
In which they would the records have enrold 
Of theyr great deeds and valorous emprize. 
What trophee then shall I most fit devize, 
In which I may record the memory 
Of my loves conquest, peerlesse beauties prise, 
Adorn'd with honour, love, and chastity! 
Even this verse, vowd to eternity. 
Shall be thereof immortall moniment ; 
And tell her praise to all posterity, 
That may admire such worlds rare wonderment; 
The happy purchase of my glorious spoile. 
Gotten at last with labour and long toyle. 



288 THE AMORETTI. 



LXX. 

Fresh Spring, the herald of loves mighty king, 

In whose cote-armour richly are displayd 

All sorts of flowres, the which on earth do spring, 

In goodly colours gloriously arrayd; 

Goe to my Love, where she is carelesse layd. 

Yet in her winters bowre not well awake ; 

Tell her the ioyous time wil not be staid, 

Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take ; 

Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready make, 

To wayt on Love amongst his lovely crew, 

Where every one, that misseth then her make. 

Shall be by him amearst ^ with penance dew. 

Make hast therefore, sweet Love, while it is prime ; 

For none qan call againe the passed time. 

* Amearst, aiQerced, punished. 



THE AMORETTI. 289 



LXXI. 

I ioy to see how, in your drawen work, 
Your selfe unto the Bee ye doe compare; 
And me unto the Spyder, that doth lurke 
In close awayt, to catch her unaware : 
Right so your selfe were caught in cunning snare 
Of a deare foe, and thralled to his love; 
In whose streight ^ hands ye now captived are 
So firmely, that ye never may remove. 
But as your worke is woven all ahout 
With Woodbynd flowers and fragrant Eglantine; 
So sweet your prison you in time shall prove, 
With many deare delights bedecked fyne. 
And all thensforth eternall peace shall see 
Between e the Spyder and the gentle Bee. 

1 streight, strict. 



13 



290 THE AMOEETTI, 



LXXII. 

Oft, when my spirit doth spred her bolder winges. 
In mind to mount up to the purest sky ; 
It down is weighd with thought of earthly things, 
And clogd with burden of mortality ; 
Where, when that soverayne beauty it doth spy, 
Eesembling heavens glory in her light, 
Drawn with sweet pleasures bayt, it back doth fly, 
And unto heaven forgets her former flight. 
There my fraile fancy, fed with full delight, 
Doth bathe in blisse, and mantleth most at ease ; 
Ne thinks of other heaven, but how it might 
Her harts desire with most contentment please. 
Hart need not wish none other happinesse, 
But here on earth to have such hevens blisse. 



THE AMORETTI. 291 



LXXni: 

Being raj self captyved here in care, 
My hart, (whom none with servile bands can tye, 
But the fayre tresses of your golden hayre,) 
Breaking his prison, forth to you doth fly. 
Like as a byrd, that in ones hand doth spy 
Desired food, to it doth make his flight : 
Even so my hart, that wont on your fayre eye 
To feed his fill, flyes backe unto your sight. 
Doe you him take, and in your bosome bright 
Gently encage, that he may be your thrall: 
Perhaps he there may learne, with rare delight, 
To sing your name and prayses over all : 
That it hereafter may you not repent, 
Him lodging in your bosome to have lent. 



292 THE AMOEETTI. 



LXXIV. 

Most happy letters ! frani'd by skilfull trade, 
"With which that happy name was first desynd, 
The which three times thrise happy hath me made, 
With guifts of body, fortune, and of mind. 
The first my being to me gave by kind, 
From Mothers womb deriv'd by dew descent : 
The second is my sovereigne Queene most kind, 
That honour and large richesse to me lent: 
The third, my Love, my lives last ornament. 
By whom my spirit out of dust was raysed: 
To speake her prayse and glory excellent. 
Of all alive most worthy to be praysed. 
Ye three Elizabeths! for ever live. 
That three such graces did unto me give. 



THE AMOEETTI. 293 



LXXV. 

One day I wrote her name upon the strand ; 

But came the waves, and washed it away : 

Agayne, I wrote it with a second hand ; 

But came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray. 

Vayne man she sayd that doest in vaine assay 

A mortall thing so to immortalize ; 

For I my selve shall lyke to this decay, 

And eke my name bee wyped out lykewize. 

Not so, quod I; let baser things devize 

To dy in dust, but you shall live by fame : 

My verse your vertues rare shall eternize. 

And in the hevens wryte your glorious name. 

Where, when as death shall all the world subdew, 
Our love shall live, and later life renew. 



294 THE AMORBTTI. 



LXXVI. 

Fayre bosome! fraught with vertues richest tresure, 
The neast ^ of love, the lodging of delight, 
The bowre of blisse, the paradice of pleasure, 
The sacred harbour of that hevenly spright ; 
IIow was I ravisht with your lovely sight, 
And my frayle thoughts too rashly led astray ! 
"Whiles diving deepe through amorous insight, 
On the sweet spoyle of beautie they did pray ; 
And twixt her paps, (like early fruit in May, 
Whose harvest seemd to hasten now apace,) 
They loosely did theyr wanton winges display, 
And there to rest themselves did boldly place. 
Sweet thoughts ! I envy your so happy rest. 
Which oft I wisht, yet never was so blest. 

Vide Remarks, p. 119. 
* Neast, nest. 



THE AMORETTI. 295 



LXXVII. 

Was it a dreame, or did I see it playne ; 
A goodly table of pure yvory, 
All spred with juncats/ fit to entertayne 
The greatest Prince with pompous roialty : 
Mongst wliich, there in a silver dish did ly 
Two golden apples of unvalewd ^ price ; 
Far passing those which Hercules came by, 
Or those which Atalanta did entice ; 
Exceeding sweet, yet voyd of sinfuU vice ; 
That many sought, yet none could ever taste ; 
Sweet fruit of pleasure, brought from Paradice 
By Love himselfe, and in his garden plaste. 

Her brest that table was, so richly spredd ; 

My thoughts the guests, which would thereon have fedd. 

Vide B.EMARKS, p. 48. 
* Juncats, JTinkets, viands. ' Unvalewd, invaluable. 



296 THE AMORETTI. 



LXXVIII. 

Lackyng my Love, I go from place to place, 

Lyke a young fawne, that late hatli lost the hynd; 

And seeke each where, where last I sawe her face, 

Whose ymage yet I carry fresh in mynd. 

T seeke the fields with her late footing synd ; 

I seeke her bowre with her late presence deckt; 

Tet nor in field or bowre I can her fynd : 

Yet field and bowre are full of her aspect : 

But, when myne eyes I therunto direct. 

They ydly back return to me agayne : 

And, when I hope to see theyr trew obi»Sct, 

I fynd my self but fed with fancies vayne. 

Cease then, myne eyes, to seeke her selfe to see ; 

And let my thoughts behold her selfe in mee. 

Vide Remarks, p. 131. 



THE AMORETTI. 297 



LXXIX. 

Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it, 

For that your selfe ye daily such doe see : 

But the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit, 

And vertuous mind, is much more praysd of me : 

For all the rest, how ever fayre it be, 

Shall turne to nought and lose that glorious hew ; 

But onely that is permanent and free 

From frayle corruption, that doth flesh ensew.^ 

That is true beautie : that doth argue you 

To be divine, and born of heavenly seed ; 

Deriv'd from that fayre Spirit, from whom all true 

And perfect beauty did at first proceed : 

He only fayre, and what he fayre hath made ; 

All other fayre, lyke flowres, untymely fade. 

• ^ Ensew, follow. 



13' 



298 THE AMORETTI. 



LXXX. 

After so long a race as I have run 

Through Faery land, which those six books compile, 

Give leave to rest me being half foredonne, 

And gather to my selfe new breath awhile. 

Then, as a steed refreshed after toyle, 

Out of my prison I will break anew. 

And stoutly will that second work assoyle,* 

With strong endevour and attention dew. 

Till then give leave to me, in pleasant mew ^ 

To sport my Muse, and sing my Loves sweet praise ; 

The contemplation of whose heavenly hew, 

My spirit to an higher pitch will rayse. 

But let her prayses yet be low and meane. 
Fit for the handmayd of the Faery Queene. 

* Assoyle, absolve, discharge. ' Mew, prison. 



THE AMORETTI. 299 



LXXXI. 

Fay re is my Love, when her fayre golden haires 
With the loose wynd ye waving chance to marke ; 
Fayre, when the rose in her red cheekes appeares ; 
Or in her eyes the fyre of love does sparke. 
Fayre, when her brest, lyke a rich laden barke. 
With pretious merchandize she forth doth lay ; 
Fayre, when that cloud of pryde, which oft doth dark 
Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away. 
But fayrest she, when so she doth display 
The gate with pearles and rubyes richly dight ; 
Throgh which her words so wise do make their way 
To beare the message of her gentle spright. 

The rest be works of Natures wonderment ; 

But this the worke of harts astonishment. 

Vide, Kemaeks, p. 125. 



300 THE AMORETTI. 



LXXXII. 

loy of my life ! full oft for loving you 
I blesse my lot, that wa8 so lucky plac'd : 
But then the more your owne mishap I rew, 
That are so much by so meane love embased. 
For, had the equall hevens so much you graced 
In this as in the rest, ye mote invent 
Some hevenly wit, whose verse could have enchased 
Your glorious name in golden moniment. 
But since ye deignd so goodly to relent 
To me your thrall, in whom is little worth ; 
That little, that I am, shall all be spent 
In setting your immortal prayses forth : 
"Whose lofty argument, uplifting me, 
Shall lift you up unto a high degree. 



THE AMOBETTI. 301 



LXXXIII. 

Let not one sparke of filthy lustful! fyre 

Breake out, that may her sacred peace molest ; 

Ne one light glance of sensuall desyre 

Attempt to work her gentle mindes unrest : 

But pure affections bred in spotlesse brest, 

And modest thoughts breathd from well-tempred spirits, 

Goe visit her, in her chaste bowre of rest, 

Accompanyde with angelick delightes. 

There fill your selfe with those most ioyous sights, 

The which my selfe could never yet attayne : 

But speake no word to her of these sad plights. 

Which her too constant stiffnesse doth constrayn. 

Onely behold her rare perfection, 

And blesse your fortunes fayre election. 

Vide Remarks, p. 120. 



302 THE AMOKETTI. 



LXXXIV. 

The world that cannot deeme of worthy things, 
When I doe praise her, say I doe but flatter : 
So does the cuckow, when the mavis singa. 
Begin his witlesse note apace to clatter. 
But they that skill not of so heavenly matter, 
All that they know not, envy or admyre ; 
Eather than envy, let them wonder at her. 
But not to deeme of her desert aspyre. 
Deepe, in the closet of my parts entyre. 
Her worth is written with a golden quill, 
That me with heavenly fury doth inspire, 
And my glad mouth with her sweet prayses fill. 
Which when as Fame in her shril trump shall thunder, 
Let the world chuse to envy or to wonder. 

Vide Remarks, p. 110. 



THE AMORETTI. 303 



LXXXV. 

Venemous tongue, tipt witli vile adders sting, 
Of that self kjnd with which the furies fell 
Their snaky heads doe combe, from which a spring 
Of poysoned words and spightfull speeches well ; 
Let all the plagues, and horrid paines, of hell 
Upon thee fall for thine accursed hyre ; 
That with false forged lyes, which thou didst tell, 
In my true Love did stirre up coles of yre ; 
The sparkes whereof let kindle thine own fyre. 
And, catching hold on thine own wicked hed, 
Consume thee quite, that didst with guile conspire 
In my sweet peace such breaches to have bred ! 
Shame be thy meed, and mischiefe thy reward, 
Due to thy selfe, that it for me prepard ! 



304 THE AMORETTI. 



Lxxxyi. 

Since I did leave the presence of my Love, 
Many long weary dayes I liave outworne ; 
And many nights, that slowly seemd to move 
Theyr sad protract from evening untill morn. 
For, when as day the heaven doth adorne, 
I wish that night the noyous day would end : 
And, when as night hath us of light forlorne, 
I wish that day would shortly reascend. 
Thus I the time with expectation spend, 
And faine my griefe with chaunges to beguile, 
That further seemes his terme still to extend, 
And maketh every minute seem a myle. 

So sorrowe still doth seem too long to last ; 

But ioyous houres do fly away too fast. 



THE AMORETTI. 305 



LXXXVII. 

Since I have lackt the comfort of that light, 
The which was wont to lead mj thoughts astray ; 
I wander as in darknesse of the night, 
Affrayd of everj dangers least dismay. 
Ne ought I see, though in the clearest day. 
When others gaze upon theyr shadowes vayne, 
But th' only image of that heavenly ray, 
Whereof some glance doth in mine eie reraayne. 
Of which beholding the idaea playne, 
Through contemplation of my purest part. 
With light thereof I doe my self sustayne. 
And thereon feed my love-affamisht hart. 
But, with such brightnesse whylest I fill my mind, 
I starve my body, and mine eyes doe blynd. 



^ >e X 



306 THE AMOR 



ETTI. 



LXXXVIII. 

Lyke as the culver/ on the bared bough, 

Sits mourning for the absence of her mate ; 

And, in her songs, sends many a wishful vow 

For his returne that seemes to linger late : 

So I alone, now left disconsolate, 

Mourne to my selfe the absence of my Love ; 

And, wandring here and there all desolate, 

Seek with my playnts to match thit mournful dove : 

Ke ioy of ought, that under heaven doth hove, 

Can comfort me, but her owne ioyous sight : 

"Whose sweet aspect both God and man can move. 

In her unspotted pleasauns to delight. 

Dark is my day, whyles her fayre light I mis, 
And dead my life that wants such lively blis. 

Tide Bemarks, p. 130. 
'^ Culver, dove. 



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